The Man in Black
by Charlotte M. Marks
Summary: Mary, the lone survivor of a vampire attack, is plagued with dreams of the man who should have killed her. When Priests come to Jericho seeking information, she readily helps them. With revenge and obsession guiding her, she hopes to find the man who had tasted her blood that fateful night. But what will she do when she finds him? Or will he find her first? Black Hat/OC
1. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

My mama died just a few days after my 19th birthday. We lived in a settlement just inside the Wastelands, a little place called Ashland, not far from one of the larger cities. My daddy brought us there when he was offered a job mining coal, and we officially became mining folk. The money was good, enough for him to build us a modest house within the first year, but once he died, it was a lonely place. My mama had always been a depressed woman, darkness seeming to follow her wherever she went, and with his passing went the last bit of light that still shone in her eyes. We weren't particularly close when he was still alive, and our bond weakened even further as she mourned.

Shortly after his death, we were forced to move - coal mining was no job for us women and we couldn't afford the taxes on the property. My mama didn't want to leave. She stood for an hour in front of the house my father had built with his bare hands weeping as reality crushed its weight onto her shoulders. He'd taken care of her since she was young, since her own parents had passed on from illness. I worked odd jobs to help out and did so for years, but my mother with her moods wasn't fit for most work.

So, destitute and heartbroken, we packed up, sold the house, and set out West with what little money mama had.

We found our way onto a shipment caravan fairly cheaply, headed toward Jericho where mama knew some folk who would help us find jobs and placement. There were a few other vagabonds who'd been traveling with them, shipping spirits and woodcrafts and the like, but our number was less than a dozen.

When the night would come, we had no choice but to make camp. The traders would attempt to keep on as long as possible, but there weren't enough men to drive in shifts. Every night, one of the travelers would go on ahead to make sure we found a place fit for sleep, and if he told us it was safe, we stopped and got our rest. And if he didn't, then we'd keep on until he did. He'd assured us that he knew the Wastelands better than most, that he'd been roaming those plains and mountains all his life, and that he knew every mile that was safe and every mile that was rotten. But one night after the fire died down, we found out that he didn't know the Wastelands so well after all.

I was awoken by the sounds of screaming and gunfire. Mama and I had been huddled down in our sleeping bundles in the back of one of the wagons, but when I woke, she wasn't there. I scurried to the opening in the canvas to get a look at what was going on, but as I did, I heard something run by the wagon. It startled me and I slipped, cutting open my hand as I fell onto an exposed nail in the wagon's floor. More screams erupted in the night, and I was so terrified I trembled. I didn't know where my mother was or if she was safe, but I couldn't bring myself to leave the wagon. So, instead, I hid between two wooden cabinets the traders built, and drug my blanket up over me to obscure my face from any prying eyes.

As soon as I was nestled in that alcove, I pulled my knees to my chest tightly, arms gripping my shins tightly. I found the cross that hung around my neck and clenched it in my fist, praying to God all the while to protect me and mine. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from sobbing and shrieking as I heard the terror unfolding outside. I knew what it was – I didn't need my eyes to tell me that we were under attack by vampires.

But despite what was obvious to me, something unexpected happened. It became quiet very suddenly, the snarls and cries ceasing entirely until the only thing that could be heard were footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and heavy, they were coming closer to me. I closed my eyes and kept praying to God, praying that what I heard was a man who'd come to rescue us.

The footsteps slowed and then finally stopped, and after a moment of thick silence, a knife tore through the canvas and the wagon dipped under someone's weight as they stepped inside. I bit my bottom lip hard and it quivered between my teeth, prompting me to silently pray faster and harder for a miracle. But it seemed God didn't hear me that night.

There was a small gap in the blanket where I'd failed to entirely conceal myself, and I hesitantly looked through it. Not far from me, I saw feet – boots, more specifically, dusty from the floors of the Wastelands. The moment it registered in my head that this was a man, I wanted to bustle from my hiding spot and straight into his care, but I knew better. I knew he could just as easily be a Familiar. I'd heard about them, that they looked like men but were loyal to the vampires. The thought was terrifying, that you could be looking a man in the eye and never know that he was allied with such wretched creatures.

The man bent down for a reason I couldn't immediately see, and his hand slowly extended to the ground. His target was the very nail I had hurt myself on only moments before. Slowly, he ran two fingers down its length, covering the tips of them in my blood, and he raised his hand out of sight. Still frightened and confused, I didn't move an inch, uncertain of what to make of the display. But as possibilities wildly ran around in my mind, they were silenced when he began sucking on his fingers. He moaned quietly, followed by an audible shiver, and it was evident that he was experiencing some sort of foul ecstasy.

I knew then that this man, or this Familiar, was no friend of mine and I tried my best to calm my heart and ease my breath. Making myself known would mean certain death, I was sure. But despite my best efforts to go unnoticed, I failed.

"I know you're here," he said suddenly, his deep, raspy voice thick with desire. Those words sliced through the silence like a wire through clay, not altogether effortless, but smooth and determined even still. "I can smell you." He spoke lustfully, breathless and nearly in a whisper. His voice was like the finest of silks, but I could hear the venom in it, too. I said nothing in return.

"You taste," he breathed out sharply, "of innocence."

My brow furrowed in perplexity but was immediately replaced with fear when he began to come closer, his boots connecting heavily with the creaking wood beneath him. I thought surely that would be my end, that his hand would reach for my duvet and he'd drain me dry. But the moment he drew near, his fingertips mere inches away from where I sat paralyzed by fear, a shotgun blasted through the night. The man took off quicker than I could blink my eyes, and I heard shouting once more. Orders were yelled, and more shots were fired, as if a battle was taking place in the darkened desert. I had no idea what to make of it and burrowed deeper into my hiding spot, praying more and more as each second passed.

After a short while, it again became quiet. But after the initial silence, cheers erupted outside. Men were shouting orders about the wounded and the infected, how to deal with them and to do so in a timely fashion. I knew salvation had come at last, and I bounded out into the open. Crying wildly, I was happy to be rescued, but the sight before me felt like a fist to the gut and my happiness was quickly washed away by sorrow. There on the dusty brown earth were bodies strewn about, both human and vampire alike, but most of them human. Among them was my mama, lying motionless on the ground, covered in blood and dust.

I turned from the scene and heaved all over the ground, losing the modest dinner I'd eaten only hours before. A man came from behind me, helping me up and guiding me away from the gore. He told me I was safe, that he and his lawmen would take care of me and see me to town under their protection. When I began sobbing uncontrollably and collapsed, he picked me up and placed me onto his horse where I stayed until we reached Jericho.

That night, the dreams started.

†††

The sheriff took pity on me, being the only survivor from that wretched attack, and as a result, he had me put up at the finest inn in Jericho, the Black Horse. A woman came to my room to clean my wounds before I slept and another brought me dinner, an old lady named Harriett. She was the owner of the inn, as it turned out. The sheriff himself paid me a visit, but upon seeing how tired I was, told me we would speak in the morning so I could rest. I'm sure the cozy feather bed and quiet room were meant to relax me, but I was too terrified to sleep. Exhaustion eventually won out, though, and I slipped into unconsciousness just as easily as I'd slipped into that bed. What I found there alarmed me.

I saw the face of a man in my dreams, heavily shadowed, almost entirely obscured. He wore black, and his eyes glowed an inhuman shade of yellow, piercing through the darkness and looking right at me. I could hear his voice, the same voice I'd heard hours before when I thought my death was near. In my dream, the man walked toward me slowly, and while I was scared, I felt something else, too. Intrigue. Even though he never came into full view, I knew it was him, the man from the caravan.

As he approached me, I backed up little by little, never once taking my eyes from him. I felt overwhelmed, wanting desperately to run but finding that I couldn't. Eventually, the world in which I dreamed betrayed me, and I found myself backing into a wall with nowhere else to go. The man had me cornered, not unlike on the caravan, and he closed the space between us deliberately. He towered over me more and more the closer he came, dipping his head to look me in the eye with those glowing irises, the brim of his hat tilting as he did so. Still, I couldn't make out his face. My heart began racing and my breathing was becoming increasingly jagged as my uncertainty for what to expect grew.

Suddenly, without a word being spoken, I felt his fingertips touch my hip. I gasped at the intrusion and my chest heaved up and down in my bodice so much so that I was beginning to feel faint. His entire hand gripped me gently and began sliding up my side agonizingly slowly, to my waist and beyond to settle atop my left breast. He came closer, still, and lowered his face to my neck. I heard him breathe in deeply and felt his warm breath on my skin as he exhaled, causing me to shiver and lose my composure. A small moan escaped my lips as if it had a mind all its own, and my hand shot to my mouth in an attempt to cover the shame of enjoying it so.

He looked at me pointedly, his eyes bright, yet dark with arousal, and he appeared somewhat perplexed. I recalled his words in the wagon, that I smelled of innocence, and though I had no idea what he meant, I assumed he meant to suck me dry. Somehow, I was aware that I was in a dream, but it felt just as real as it had on the caravan when he'd come so close to finding me. As a result, the strange emotions I felt seemed real, a mixture of fear and captivation and lust.

His hand closed around my wrist gently, the very hand I had covering my mouth. He lowered it slowly without any objection from me, staring into my eyes all the while. They were electric, and his gaze refused to let mine go – no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't possibly look away. His lips found mine then, his kiss shocking me to the core, and I stood there stunned. My eyes were wide open in surprise, but his were closed as if he had sunk into the touch where I'd failed. I didn't reciprocate and I felt violated when his tongue insisted upon entering into my mouth. But contending with that feeling was lust, and only a moment later, my eyes fell shut and my body leaned into his, the fight gone from me. Deepening the kiss, he pressed his body into me more and more, taking me right along with him. The taste of him, I found, was something of which I couldn't seem to get enough. I felt shame for enjoying it so, but the pleasure I was feeling silenced every opposing thought I had.

Almost as quickly as his tongue had found mine, he withdrew with a growl, his head lowered to the ground and his breathing heavy. He turned away from me sharply, ascending to his full height, and disappeared without a word. I did nothing but stand there alone in the dark of my dream, delirious from arousal and incredibly bewildered.

I woke the next morning to find fresh clothes sitting on the small table in my room, next to a large bowl of water and a washing cloth. They hadn't been there the night before, and the heat rose to my cheeks as I wondered who may have come in during the night. I'd awoken to find myself incredibly aroused, an ache so potent between my legs that before washing up, I had to relieve myself of it. I was embarrassed by the thought that I may have said or done something in my sleep that another might have seen. Worse than that, even, was that the monster from my dream had caused such a reaction in both my body and mind.

Once I emerged from my room, I was ushered around by a young man named Jackson, taking me here and there, introducing me to this person and that. He took me downstairs to get breakfast at the inn, doubling as a tavern, and later in the day, to see the sheriff. All the while, I was in a daze, uncertain if this was real. My mama was gone, yet I didn't feel a void. I was thick in a sea of strangers, in a place so utterly foreign to me I might have panicked under normal circumstances, but I was unfazed. None of it seemed real.

When I arrived at the sheriff's office, he asked me what I'd seen or what I may have heard, but I was of little help. I told him about the man on the wagon, the one I had dreamed about at length, but I spoke of him vaguely. I felt a sense of shame that with details of that gruesome scene, I was also reminded of the details of my dream, the way I could not seem to stop thinking about him.

Before I left, the sheriff assured me my mother would receive a proper burial there in Jericho, for which I thanked him. He also gave me her belongings, what little of them she had, and among her things was the small coin purse she had from our home. It was that moment, as I stood in the middle of the dusty street staring down at that ragged leather purse, that it finally sank in. And as strangers bustled around me in the street, ignoring my presence entirely, I began to cry.

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated. Let me know what you think!**_


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

Months after the attack, Jericho had become my own personal Hell. I couldn't tell you how folks knew, but the whispers spread rapidly – after a few short weeks, everyone had heard the details of that night, of the man who tasted my blood. Misconceptions were bred from the vague details, and suddenly people viewed me differently. No longer was I the gal that had survived that gruesome ordeal by the grace of God. In the eyes of pious men, I was now the devil's pawn, placed in Jericho to rip the life from every God-fearing man, woman, and child there. Most of them treated me as if I would bring a plague upon them like a swift gust of hot, desert wind – they thought I was the reason the vampires were coming like the preacher man said. Some were angry with me, as their loved ones had died that night and I'd survived with no more than a cut to my hand. Others felt sorry for me. Very few men and women would look me in the eye. And even though it died down after awhile, I could tell when someone was reminded of it just by looking at me.

Despite their disgust, anger, and pity, I settled into Jericho well enough. Not long after arriving there, Harriett offered me a job. She was a kind old woman, hunched over in her age, who told me she needed someone reliable to tend the bar and to serve the food. She told me she had no money to pay me for my work, but that she could offer a room and fresh food thrice daily as compensation. With no other options and a potent fear in me that resulted from feeling lost without my mother, I jumped at the opportunity.

As time wore on, I was even able to make a bit of coin. True, Harriett didn't pay me a wage, but I'd gotten tips from patrons here and there, and found that the more I smiled and the drunker they got, the more I could make. Atop that, I routinely ran errands for her, and sometimes, those on the receiving end would hand me a copper for my troubles. Hell, the Sheriff himself once gave me a silver dollar, and all I had to do was haul a load of files down to the postman's office.

One night at the Black Horse, just before closing, a group of men came to the inn seeking food and shelter from the rain, something that happened very seldom in the Wastelands. I was in the kitchen washing up dishes from the day, and Harriet came hobbling in with her cane like the devil was on her tail.

"We've got customers," she whispered as she hastily limped past me to the mugs. She promptly began filling them with ale and whiskey and was out of the kitchen before I had time to ask her what had her skirts in a bunch. Harriett was typically intolerant of folks coming in real late, especially right before closing. The fact that she hadn't tried to run them off with her cane was puzzling.

When she came back in, still in a fit, I finally got a chance to ask what was wrong.

"Priests," she said. "Get out of that dishwater, missy, and get on out there!" she snapped. I dried my hands on my apron and removed it, a worried look on my face. Priests didn't come to the Wastelands unless something bad was happening. And the Priests hadn't been outside of the cities in years, not that I'd heard about. It was enough to make my gut clench.

I walked out into the dining area and was met by the sight of seven men, huddled around a table, having a discussion in whispers. They were cloaked, clad only in black, and frankly, were not the sort I'd like to meet in the dark of night in the wrong part of town. I put on my bravest face to mask my concern and called out to them with my cheeriest voice as I walked to their table.

"Is there anything in particular you fellas would like?" I inquired.

"Whatever you have cooked up," one of the Priests said. "We're starved."

With a nod I returned to the kitchen, dishing out bowls of some of Ethan's heartiest stew. Ethan was a young wanderer, a bit younger than me, that Harriet took in a few months after I came to Jericho. In exchange for food and shelter, he did all of the cooking in her kitchen as well as fixing things that needed fixing on his day off. He was like a tumbleweed, blowing through the desert from town to town, only staying a little while until sitting still got to be too much for him. Luckily, he was still with us.

I loaded the bowls up on a serving platter, along with two small baskets of bread and a dish of butter. No sooner did the bowls touch the table were these men devouring the food - true as they said, they were starved.

Over the next hour or so, Harriet and I lingered near the kitchen door, peering out into the dining room. We'd started speculating, grasping at straws as we gossiped over petty crimes we'd heard about in recent weeks. Really, though, with the exception of the attack that claimed my mama's life, neither of us had heard a lick about vampires in a coon's age. But we both knew the reason the Priests were there, even if we didn't know specifics.

Despite the peculiar company, Harriet retired once the clock struck twelve. I accompanied her upstairs slowly and helped her into bed, just like I did every night. The ole girl's health was rapidly deteriorating but, bless her heart, she got up every morning and carried on her days as if nothing was amiss. Of course, when she was having a rough day, I was there to take care of her, and Ethan too. She had never thanked us or let on that she appreciated what we did for her - she was too hardened from life to be sentimental, but I knew, deep down, she was grateful.

When I came back downstairs, I heard the Priests freely discussing vampires. I came as far as I could before I'd be seen, hiding behind the wall that separated the stairwell and the dining room. I knew the moment I resurfaced, they would once again speak in whispers, so I stayed as quiet as possible so that I could eavesdrop.

They spoke at length of a place called Sola Mira. It was the name of an old vampire hive I'd heard in conversation, mostly from eavesdropping on the caravan when my mama and I were on our way to Jericho. But the sheriff had spoken of it with his lawmen, as well. I'd been in shock at the time, slumped against the back of one of his deputies as they led me away from the caravan carnage, exhausted and forlorn. From what I understood, that particular hive wasn't far from where the attack had taken place. Was that why the Priests were here? Perhaps it had taken this long for word to go from ear to ear until finally it reached the edge of the Wastelands and spilled into the cities. I bet those vampires were long gone by now.

Suddenly, my ears perked up even more when one of the men confirmed my suspicions. They discussed the attack, talking about the devastation the lawmen had stumbled upon when they arrived. And then one of them mentioned that not a soul had walked away from it. This confused me greatly - surely they'd heard about the lone survivor? You'd be hard-pressed to find someone in this dust bowl who hadn't overheard the God-fearin' men talk about the 'serpent' who survived only to bring the vampires back with her. It was a bunch of horseshit, but who was I to argue? To most of Jericho, I was a complete stranger, even ten months on. I guess I couldn't blame them for being wary. After all, I'd been pretty reclusive ever since that night. Such behavior hadn't done wonders for my reputation.

Without thinking, I stood from the stairs and stepped out into the dining room. When several of the Priests saw me, they immediately stopped speaking. One of them made a comment about the stew and how delicious it was. There was a fake smile on his face, plastered there to give me the impression they were merely enjoying their meal over a conversation of witty banter or tales from the road. But, of course, I was no fool.

"You're wrong," was all I said, causing the man who'd complimented the food to knit his brow in confusion. I shook my head and continued. "There was someone who survived that attack."

All of the Priests looked to me then, perplexed and intrigued. They looked like they expected something more, so I continued.

"It was me."

Silence filled the room for a tense moment. Several of the Priests looked to one another, silent questions being asked, disbelief brewing. There were very few people who'd survived vampire attacks, not without the aide of Priests or a God-given miracle, and certainly not an attack that had reportedly involved over three dozen vampires. But ultimately, they looked back to me, their skepticism pushed aside for a brief moment to make way for the truth.

"How?" one of them asked.

With the exception of telling the sheriff after it happened, I hadn't recounted that night to anyone, not even myself. I tried with all my might to forget about it while trying desperately to keep hold of my mother's memory. If I thought these men would want details, I might have thought better of opening my mouth. But they sat there expecting an explanation, so I pulled up a chair from another table and sat with my hands folded in my lap. My eyes were downcast as I recollected that night.

"I hid," I started, shakily. "My mama and I were coming from up towards Whiteriver. We'd found a man who agreed to take us along on his caravan for pretty modest coin. We stopped to camp on the third night, my mama and I were in one of the wagons with our sleeping rolls. When I fell to sleep, she was there next to me. And when I woke up to screamin', she wasn't."

There wasn't an ounce of pity on any of their faces. I'd heard about these Priests - they were trained to push aside emotion to become warriors of God. Their strength and speed and skill was beyond that of most humans, the better to vanquish vampires with. Knowing is different than seeing, though, and it jarred me if only a smidge.

By this point, tears began to well in my eyes. It was only a matter of time before they spilled over and I lost my composure, surely. Despite that one time in the middle of the streets of Jericho, I had yet to truly mourn her. Due to pushing that night as far into the back of my mind as I could, I never allowed myself to. I told myself time and time again that I had to be strong, that I wouldn't fall apart the way my mother had when my father gave up the ghost. And that meant I couldn't cry.

"A man came up into the wagon," I continued, swallowing hard. "I hid, but before that, I'd cut myself on accident. And this man, or whatever he was, he went for my blood like some beast."

One of the Priests interrupted me then. "A man?"

Shaking my head and shrugging, I said, "I could only see his boots, and his hand. But he spoke to me. He said that I tasted like… innocence," I said awkwardly, vividly recalling the tone his voice had taken on nearly a year later. "I have no doubt that he meant to kill me, but he was run off shortly after when the sheriff and his men rode up."

The Priests all looked to one another, their faces concerned and confused. I'm not sure they knew what to make of it any more than I did. They conversed amongst themselves, and I heard the word Familiar whispered several times. All the while I stared at my hands, at the scar on my palm where my blood had flowed freely. I cringed involuntarily when I thought about my blood being inside of him, when I thought about the sounds he'd made when it touched his lips. But even though I tried to push it away, it all flooded back to me, him in particular. I remembered it like it was just yesterday, and it brought a rush of warmth to my cheeks.

"Have you heard any word of recent vampire attacks?" one of them asked me.

I nodded before speaking. "No. Why? Is that why you're here?"

The looks that passed between them was answer enough, and I knew that they were reluctant to divulge to me any information. I'm sure they had good reason, though, namely avoiding possible panic. But the thought that there may be vampires outside our town's line made me incredibly uneasy, and if they knew something, then I wanted to know, too.

When none of them said anything, I pushed further. "Are there vampires coming to Jericho?"

One of them shook his head. "We don't know. I received word from my brother at Outpost 10 - do you know where that is?" I'd heard of the outposts but didn't know where to find any, and nodded accordingly. "He and his family survived a vampire attack some weeks ago. When I received his letter, I took it to one of the Monsignors in the city. Our kind, we Priests, we have been disbanded for many years. When the vampires were locked away and the cities built, we were no longer of use to anyone. The Monsignor didn't believe what I was telling them, instead calling my brother a liar and viewing my warnings as an act of heresy. To go against the church is to go against God, that is what they believe. When I suggested that we Priests regroup to investigate this further, and when these men, my brothers, stood behind me, we were banished from the church and the cities."

I looked at all of them, the men he'd motioned to during his speech. They all looked like brave warriors, if not hardened and weary from the battles of years past. I'd heard only vague details of the cities before, though. To someone like me, someone sheltered in the Wastelands, the cities seemed like myths, and I was having a difficult time processing everything he told me. The only thing I knew for certain is that dread was settling in the pit of my stomach.

"So even without the church, you're still trying to find them?"

Another of the Priests shook his head. "That is what we do."

"We've been investigating the past few weeks, but thus far we have come up with very little. Rumors, mostly."

I was quiet for a moment. Truly, I wished I could be of help. After thinking on everything I'd heard, everything Harriet and I had whispered about hours before, I'd still come up with nothing. Truth is, the Wastelands had been pretty quiet since the attack on our caravan. In fact, the only thing I could offer was sure to leave them just as empty handed as when they came. But it was worth a shot.

"I could show you where the attack happened. Don't know that it'd help much, but that's about all I can offer."

It was evident by their faces that they viewed this as a long shot, but from what they said, their options were limited. They had no other information to go on.

"You would show us? You're sure you remember the location?"

"Yes. I'll never forget that place so long as I live."

They were silent for a moment, looking to the man I assumed was their leader, the one who'd done most of the talking. He had long, lanky limbs, evident even under the dark robes he wore, and his hair was so pale it blended into his skin. His eyes were sparkling blue and frankly, they looked sad. But if he was their leader, I would trust he was a strong man.

"Can you take us there at dawn?" he inquired.

"I reckon so."

The man was satisfied with my answer and they agreed that sleep was the best thing for us all at that point. The hands on Harriet's clock, old and rusty as they were, worked true. By that point, it was pushing 2 o'clock. The sun wasn't far from rising and I showed the men where they could stay upstairs. They had substantial coin with which to pay, something I knew would thrill Harriet, and I made sure they were all taken care of before retiring myself.

As I was leaving the last room, the room in which their leader would be staying, he stopped me. At first he said nothing, his eyes focused on mine with what I could only describe as concern. Finally, he spoke, breaking the silence.

"What is your name?"

"I'm Mary."

He smiled a very small smile. "Mary, I'd like to thank you for your generosity and hospitality. My brothers and I appreciate it very much."

I shrugged. "No need to thank me, Mister…?"

The man looked uneasy for a brief moment. "Priests do not have names," he stated flatly.

"Way I hear it, you're not really a Priest anymore," I said with a lopsided grin. He seemed to consider my words for a moment, a smile on his lips so minuscule it was nearly imperceptible.

"Nathaniel."

I smiled at him briefly, though my fatigue was winning out over manners and good service. "Well, there's no need to thank me, Nathaniel. I don't want anything like what happened to my mama to happen to anyone else. So if I can help, I'm glad to. I hope you have a good night."

At that, we parted ways and I went to my room. As I undressed, I thought on the situation I'd gotten myself into, voluntarily no less. There was a knot forming in the pit of my stomach and anxiousness gripping my throat. Along with the anxiety and fear, however, was eagerness. I was keen to see what the Priests would find, if anything. More specifically, I was keen to see _who_ they would find. If the man in black was anywhere to be found, I wanted to be there when they found him. I wanted to look him in the eye and ask him why. Why was he there that night? What did he want? And why, my God _why_, did he torment me so in my dreams?

_**A/N: Thanks for reading :) Reviews and comments are appreciated greatly!**_


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

I barely slept that night. I was awake when the sun rose and hastily began preparing for the day. Knowing the ride would be long, I went down to the kitchen and packed some bread and jerky, as well as filled an old canteen I'd found in the storage room. The dining room wouldn't be open for another hour, which gave me plenty of time to think of what to tell Harriet. I knew the ole girl would object to me going with out into the Wastelands with the Priests, but it was something I felt I had to do. And it was far more than that - I felt that anything they may find would help me in the fight with my own demons.

While I waited for the Priests to awaken, anxiety sunk its claws into me so ruthlessly I began pacing the room. After a few fitful moments, I decided I'd use my nervous energy productively, and thus began the Black Horse's morning preparations. Normally it was Ethan and another waitress who did these things, but I felt on the brink of the spontaneous combustion these traveling salesmen were always portending about in the middle of town. Of course, I never paid them much mind - only thirty dollars for just a few sips of their magical elixir and you'd surely dodge the bullet. It was horseshit.

By the time the Priests came downstairs, the floors had been swept, the tabletops cleaned, and the teapot was well on its way to whistling. Normally, Harriett had us do the cleaning after hours so we were ready for the following morning, but with the arrival of the Priests the night before, things got a bit off course. Ethan came in as the Priests filed downstairs, and he absconded to the kitchen to fire up the stovetops and get breakfast going for us before opening.

As the Priests ate, I made my way upstairs to get Harriet. We hobbled down to the dining room slowly and I sat her down as Ethan brought her an omelet. Small talk was made over the meal, with Harriet asking all sorts of curious questions of the Priests, things I'd asked only the night before. When the Priests mentioned they would be heading out soon to further their investigations, I took a deep breath and told Harriet that I'd be accompanying them.

My admission was not met with praise or excitement. Harriet voiced her concerns for me up one side and down the other, warning me of dangers out in between the cities as if I was unaware. I let her vent before telling her that I felt it would be good for me, and perhaps even fortuitous for the Priests. Hell, maybe even Jericho would benefit if they found something ominous and averted disaster. In all truth, I hadn't the faintest idea if I could really help them, but it was worth a shot. In the end, she and Ethan saw me off with well wishes, knowing that, short of tying me down, they couldn't stop me.

During the trip, I rode with Nathaniel. The bikes they rode were unlike anything I'd ever seen before, testament to the technological gap between us humble folk out here in the desert and the industrious inside city walls. Some of the traders used them, as well as some of the law men, but they were steam-powered. These were something else entirely, and they moved so fast I found it necessarily to grip Nathaniel around the waist damn near painfully. Though he'd gone to great lengths to ensure I was comfortable and secure, I had this overwhelming fear of falling right off if we hit one bump or made one turn too sharp. But, as luck would have it, we arrived safe and sound, the dust on our clothes the only evidence of our journey. There were no bumps, bruises, or accidental dismounts to speak of.

The minute I stepped off of the bike, I stood in that plain in a haze of sorts, staring. There were mountains in the distance, progressively growing in size the farther away they were. The highest one, the darkest one, was eerie to look at, much like a black cloud. But it wasn't just the sight of that mountain that made me uneasy, it was the whole kit and kaboodle. The silence of the desert was disarming, and though the air was hot and sticky, a breeze would blow faintly every so often. It was a welcome relief against my sweating skin, but it somehow served to chill my blood, as well. It wasn't just wind gusting around me, it was something else.

For a brief, very sudden moment, I felt faint, and a vision invaded my mind as if I was dreaming wide awake. The dark mountain in the distance was now a silhouette outlined by a red sky, growing darker rapidly, clouds rolling in around it as if a storm was coming. The ground from here to there was littered with black creatures. But where they all sat hunched on all fours, a figure a hundred yards away stood tall and dark, and called to me. His voice was a whisper in the wind, but it bellowed as if echoing from canyon walls. I could scarcely make out his face, but I knew the moment he locked eyes with me, because I could see the bright yellow of his eyes. I gasped, and the moment I did so, the vision dissipated, gone as if it had never been there in the first place. I tumbled back to reality just as quickly as I'd tumbled out of it, and found myself trying desperately to catch my breath. Luckily, I was able to hide it well enough - the Priests were far too busy scanning the land around us to notice.

"Are you certain this is where it happened?" Nathaniel asked. I nodded quickly and folded my arms across my chest, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. My breathing was still ragged and, despite my efforts to remain nonchalant, I chewed at my bottom lip nervously.

"This is a bold place for an attack," one of the Priests said. "Out in the open, on a major trade way."

Nathaniel shook his head. "It's quite unlike them, even under the shadows of night. There are no reservations nearby."

I watched them all in turn as they scanned the grounds, looked into the distance in every direction, faces furrowed in concentration and mounting confusion. One of them held a small book in which he scribbled what I could only assume were his findings. But, truth be told, all that could be seen here was dust and mountains.

"What is it?" one of the Priests asked, aiming his question at Nathaniel. His gaze was directed toward the dark mountain where only moments before, I'd seen the man in black.

"That hive," he said, motioning toward the distant rock. "That's Sola Mira."

"Are you certain?" another asked. He was standing near his bike and reached in a saddlebag, pulling a map from inside. After scanning for only a moment, he realized the truth in Nathaniel's words, and looked up at him gravely.

"Hive?" I inquired, unable to take my eyes off of it.

"It's exactly what it sounds like," one of the men answered, assuming I had no idea what a hive was. Oh, I knew. I think every God-fearing soul knew. We'd been led to believe that the hives were vacant and that the only remaining vampires resided in the reservations, securely shut out from the world, keeping the public safe. I wondered now if that was true. Why else would the Priest's faces suddenly turn so grim?

The Priest with the notebook began leafing through old pages, scribbling notes and scanning entries with great speed. He mumbled to himself all the while, but the others paid him no mind.

"That is the south entrance, is it not?" Nathaniel inquired of the Priest with the map. He received a reluctant nod in response. "We're not far."

"Far from what?" I asked, but no one regarded me. This wasn't going as planned - I didn't feel like I was helping at all. Truth be told, I felt like I was in the way, annoying them with my questions until they got so fed up they flat out ignored me.

As the Priests mounted their bikes once more, Nathaniel looked to me, standing confused before them.

"One of my brothers will take you back to Jericho," he said simply as another Priest rode up beside me, presumably my chariot waiting to whisk me away. We'd been there all of 10 or 15 minutes. Something about that hive had sent them into overdrive, and I wanted to know what it was. Being so close to where it happened, to where me and the man in black had crossed paths that night, I had an overwhelming desire to find out more than what these Priests were letting on. And after that vision, well, I could feel him pulling me toward him. It terrified me, but leaving wasn't an option.

"Where are you going?" I probed, raising my voice so it could be heard over the engines of their bikes.

"We must further our investigation, Mary. I thank you for your help."

"Are you going to that _hive_?" I felt pushed aside and shut out and although, deep down, I knew I shouldn't be bothered by it, I was. Perhaps that's because I came out here with expectations, with motives beyond helping them find answers. I sought my own answers, and I couldn't do that from Jericho.

When he didn't answer, I continued speaking. "I can help you, you know. The man I told you about… he comes to me, in dreams. I saw him, just now. I know that sounds crazy, but… if you take me with you, I can help you find him."

If I had to swear that statement on a stack of Bibles, I wouldn't be able to. Truth is, I had no idea if the dreams and fantasies of the man in black were connections with the man himself or just a product of my overactive imagination, wishful thinking. But I'll tell you one thing, every dream of him felt more real than anything I've ever experienced in my life. And what had just happened… that was the most potent of them to date.

After explaining further how the man from the attack had affected my life for the past ten months (leaving out the unnecessarily personal and lascivious details), Nathaniel agreed to take me with them. It was made clear that I would be there to consult and nothing more. I agreed eagerly, though I tried to hide my anticipation. I was fearful, as well, but more so keen on finding out what this connection meant. And it wouldn't be a lie if I said a streak of revenge was lying dormant in my heart, either.

It was early in the afternoon by the time we reached the base of the mountain that harbored Sola Mira. We camped at the bottom and ate lunch, no one saying much of anything. The Priests didn't take much food or drink, and spent most of the short break discussing their plans once inside. Some of it made sense to me, but not all. They seemed to speak in code at certain moments. Whether this was typical of Priests or they were just being careful to keep me in the dark, I'm not sure.

For the second time that day I felt shut out, so I decided to take a short walk, though I didn't go far, as I could still hear the Priests' voices in the distance. Truly, the Wastelands were beautiful in their own right, the remnants of the old world having been worn down to near nothingness. I looked out all around me, and there was nothing but brown earth and dilapidated structures for miles. For a moment, I wondered what it would look like, what it once looked like, overrun with greenery like God had intended. I'd never seen much of it myself, of the green leaves some of the older folks talked about. A few potted plants here, some pictures in books there. It was foreign to me, to most of those in the Wastelands. I'd give anything to see it.

Too busy with my own thoughts, I didn't hear Nathaniel walk up behind me, and only knew of his presence once he spoke.

"Mary."

"Hmm?" I said, turning toward him.

"I want you to take this," he said, handing me a long knife with a black blade. "We've agreed that you will be waiting outside while we investigate the hive. One of my brothers will be with you. But, we also believe in being prepared. And should you need it…" He trailed off, staring at the blade. "Well, it's better to have it than not."

I nodded in understanding as I took the knife from him slowly. The idea of brandishing a weapon was intimidating. Aside from kitchen knives, I'd never even held one before, never mind used one. It was heavier than I imagined, and the handle was warm, as if Nathaniel had been holding it a long while, debating whether or not to give it to me. The idea that he thought I might need it was unnerving, but just as he said, it's better to have it than not. It wouldn't do to find myself on the end of a threat only to be unable to defend myself.

Nathaniel could see my trepidation. "It'll be alright. Should a problem arise, we'll protect you at all costs. This is just a precaution."

I looked up to him and forced a smile and nod before he walked off. The gravity of the situation hit me suddenly as he walked away. Thinking about finding the man in black and actually doing it were entirely different matters. I was overwhelmed, and there was dread in the pit of my stomach as if something terrible was going to happen. I prayed it wouldn't, and all the while, I wondered if the man in black was near, if he could feel my fear. I was damn near certain he could.

†††

Sundown was only a few hours off by the time we reached the entrance of Sola Mira. I watched as, one by one, the Priests disappeared inside, with the exception of one who stayed to watch after me. The air that came out of the entrance was cool and smelled old, and I fidgeted greatly while staring inside. However, there was nothing but darkness to be seen down the long corridor the Priests had taken.

We weren't waiting long before we heard commotion, something akin to an altercation. Within the blink of an eye, the Priest standing next to me ran inside toward the clash, his weapons at the ready. I continued hearing the sounds of the fight going on in the hive, and I was afraid. I was afraid that they would all die and I'd be left there by myself, to die as well. It was at that moment that I cursed my stupidity for ever leaving Jericho, for ever thinking this was a good idea. Truly, there wasn't a shred of sense to it, tagging along with Priests searching for the man who killed my mother and seduced me damn near every night I slept.

I was suddenly hit with a vision of him. As if the sun had burst through the hive to shine down on him, there he was in the bright light, in the middle of a vast dwelling. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, but every other bit of him could be seen, standing tall and menacing. Until that point, I had only seen him in darkness, in shadows, and I was taken aback by how visible he was to me now. It was as if I had spent the last ten months blind and now I could see.

He called to me, his voice bellowing with even more clarity than before. Since then, I had never heard him so clear, only whispers and growls and while my dreams felt real, they were nothing like this. The vision I had of him earlier that day couldn't even compare.

"Come." Suddenly, I broke free of my reverie and found myself standing in the center of the dwelling I had just seen. But there was no light, only darkness. And all around me, Priests were fighting vampires in droves. I had no recollection of walking into Sola Mira - the last place I recall being was at the entrance of the hive, a safe distance from all of this madness. But there I was, in the thick of it.

"Mary!" Nathaniel's voice screamed above all else, telling me to get back, to stay away from the chaos. But despite the concern in his voice and the fear in my mind that told me to heed his warnings, I was petrified, rooted to the spot. I couldn't move - it was as if a force of some sort had taken over me and held me in place firmly by the shoulders.

And then I saw it, the shadow. My eyes landed on him, cloaked by the darkness above us. On a ledge he stood, watching the pandemonium unfold before him. But above all else, I knew he was watching me, just like I knew he was responsible for bringing me here, leading me into the hive without my consent. He had seduced me for ten long months, and there I was, there he was. We were reunited once again.

My body trembled in fear as he jumped from the ledge, landing gracefully in the distance. Despite the yelling and the snarls I could hear around me as blades plunged into flesh, I could hear his footsteps, slow and deliberate, above all else. They echoed in my ears, drowning everything out except my heartbeat. They grew louder as he grew closer.

The space between us was rapidly closing, and when he got within reach, his arm extended to touch me. I was so overwhelmed I felt sickeningly lightheaded, but when his fingertips lightly touched the side of my face, a numbness came over me that overrode every other feeling. A spark coursed through me, every fine hair on my body standing up, and I shivered audibly. All the while, I stared up into the darkness under his hat, where I could barely make out the faint glow of his eyes. I was entranced and terrified all at the same time.

Suddenly, the man in black was gone from before me as Nathaniel tackled him to the ground. Now that my spell was broken, I watched as the two men rolled and tumbled and swung and jabbed. Nathaniel got to his feet and backed away, still in a fighting stance, as he waited for his opponent to rise as well.

"Well, hello, Nathaniel," the man in black spoke, wiping at his lip coolly, unbothered by the fact that there was now blood on his fingertips, those same fingertips that had just caressed my skin gently.

As the man in black spoke, the vampires backed away, becoming one with the darkness around us, still growling all the while. The Priests' ears pricked up and they regarded the man with wide eyes, the vampires seemingly forgotten. Their reaction said it all: they knew him.

"Michael?" Nathaniel whispered in disbelief.

"In the flesh," he replied, spreading his arms as if to present himself to the Priests.

"How?" Nathaniel inquired in disbelief, still shocked to the core.

The man began to circle Nathaniel slowly, letting out a low, unsettling chuckle, as if baffled by the question. All the while, Nathaniel mirrored his movements, not turning his back to this man from his past. He and the other Priests still brandished their weapons, as they knew he was a threat. And while I knew this, as well, I felt a strange sense of desperation - I wanted more than anything for them to drop their weapons and not harm the man from my dreams, the man I craved and loathed all at the same time.

"When my _brothers_ left me here to die," he began with distaste, "I was spared. I was so sure the hour of my death was upon me, but Fate had other plans. The vampire queen came to me, and I drank of her blood. And now I am twice the man I once was, both stronger and smarter."

What he said seemed absurd - a human vampire hybrid? I'd certainly never heard of anything like it, and given the Priests' reactions, the skepticism on their faces, I was willing to wager that they hadn't either.

"Why did you not return to the church?"

The man laughed lowly at Nathaniel's question, and it extended into a loud cackling until he threw his head back in mirth. It was eerie to say the least. Here we were, severely outnumbered and surrounded by ravenous beasts, and this man, he was laughing, thoroughly amused by Nathaniel. It took a moment for him to compose himself, though the humor was still evident in his voice.

"Because I realized that the church is a lie. It's a fool's establishment, Nathaniel. And what I could not see then, I see clearly now."

The church? From where I stood, processing all of this information while fighting hard not to succumb to another of the man's potent trances, he was a Priest. Or he might have been once upon a time. I didn't like that at all. A human _Priest_ vampire hybrid? Suddenly I wondered if we were going to make it out of this hive alive.

"What is this, Michael? These attacks? This isn't you."

"That is where you're wrong, old friend. You see, these _creatures_, they are my friends now. My _family_. And they are far more loyal and far more pure than anyone within the church, even you."

Both Nathaniel and Michael stopped their pacing suddenly and a staring contest ensued. No one said a word, and I was holding my breath painfully as I slowly backed my way into a corner, against the cold wall of the hive. I was shielded by the shadows, but I knew he could still see me. Thankfully, he was so focused on Nathaniel that he never looked my way.

The Priests clenched their fists around the hilt of their blades in anticipation for an attack, and I suddenly remembered that Nathaniel had given me my own. But the knife was nowhere to be found, and I felt even more vulnerable when I realized I'd lost it somewhere along the way.

"You have something I want, Nathaniel. And if you give it to me, I will spare your lives," the man in black said menacingly.

When no one said anything, he continued. "Her."

The man's eyes fell on me finally, and his hand, extended in my direction, was pointing at me. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I was sure every hair on my head was rapidly turning white from fear. I was waiting to hear what Nathaniel had to say to that, as I was sure he wouldn't let this man take me. However, as the silence stretched on for what seemed an eon, doubt came rushing into my thoughts. I felt tears prickling at my eyes.

But without a word being spoken, a fight broke out once again. Nathaniel charged the man in black, and while the Priest was particularly menacing, he was no match for his opponent. My faith in his abilities had turned sour when the revelation came that the man in black was partly vampire - every soul on earth knew of their prowess. And the numbers were tipped not our favor, but his.

I could see the entrance to the hive out of the corner of my eye, and truth be told, the coward in me willed me to run for it as fast as I could. But I was so terrified that I couldn't find the strength to move. I watched as Priest after Priest took blow after blow, most in the form of claw marks from the vampires, whose numbers had now doubled, if not tripled, since we'd arrived.

"Mary, run!"

Nathaniel was running my way, as were the other Priests, clutching at their injuries as they came. Still unable to move, Nathaniel pulled me into the direction of the entrance, and I was suddenly able to will my legs to carry me. I heard a scream behind me, and a thud, followed by snarls, but I forced myself to keep my eyes forward and my legs quick.

After what seemed like a lifetime, we reached the entrance, everyone accounted for with the exception of one. The Priests wasted no time grieving as they stood outside the entrance, their weapons at the ready, waiting for any vampires, or hybrids, to come out. But none did. For perhaps another hour or two, we had the sunlight on our sides.

We quickly made our way back down the side of the mountain and set off in different directions, leaving one bike behind, a reminder of the Priest lost to the hive. Nathaniel and several of his men went back to the cities, while a few of the Priests escorted me back to Jericho, where I was dropped off without so much as a goodbye.

I stood there just inside the town's limits, staring off into the distance as the dust that kicked up behind their bikes settled. Unsure of what had really just happened, what was going to happen, or what I should be doing, I just stood there. It wasn't until one of the lawmen was making his rounds and snapped me out of my stupor that I came back to reality.

"You alright, Mary?"

I nodded quickly, my arms folded over my chest tightly to keep the chill from seeping into my bones. Whether it was the night air or my crawling skin that was the culprit, I'll never know.

"Yeah," I said, staring out into the distance once again. The sun was setting now. "I'm fine."

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated :)**_


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

Weeks went by without a word from the Priests. The first week or so, I was scared out of my wits, afraid that what had transpired within Sola Mira would spill out into the Wastelands and towns would be under attack within a matter of days. But nothing happened. Life went on as usual in our little dust bowl, without a single vampire attack to speak of.

I went about my days as I normally would, but there was now an ever-present dread inside me. Everyone around me was carefree, enjoying their lives as much as they always did (or didn't, for those less fortunate), and all I could think about was impending doom. I kept it to myself, of course, not wanting to come off as some crazed prophet or overzealous religious nut. I didn't know when, but I was sure, eventually, the vampires would come. And the man in black… well, I was terrified more of him now than I had been in the last ten months. Because, you see, after my visit to Sola Mira, the dreams of him stopped. In fact, the last time I'd seen him was in the flesh in that darkened cavern, and ever since then, nothing. Silence. For the first time in nearly a year, I slept soundly and when I woke each morning, it terrified me. And it didn't just scare me - I felt alone, abandoned.

Life didn't allow me much time to dwell on matters of vampires and Priests, though. Harriet's health had been going downhill for some time, and when I wasn't working the inn, nearly twice as much as I had been before, I was tending to her. Ethan and I switched shifts, making sure she was comfortable and took her medicine. But despite the constant care and Jericho's best doctor, she passed in her sleep one night.

It was a sad time for everyone. Ethan, myself, and the citizens of Jericho who knew and loved her (and even some who didn't) attended her funeral, and though Harriet could be a stubborn old shrew sometimes, they had nothing but nice words to say about her. And while everyone grieved to the extent they needed, I found myself in a bit of a haze, numbed by her passing. It forced me to unearth the memories of my mother and her death, and I found myself grieving not one but two of the women I'd come to love and care for in my life.

Harriet's will was read after her funeral, and those few mentioned in it were asked to meet with a lawyer at the inn. We did so, still wearing the clothes and tears from her burial. Ethan, myself, and Doc Warren were the only ones asked to be there, and we closed down the dining room of the Black Horse while business was being conducted.

As it turns out, Harriet saw fit to give her business to Ethan and me, making the two of us co-owners of her humble establishment. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Neither of us knew the business side of how this place was run, but we'd faced plenty of hiccups before and always charged 'em head on, so I tried not to worry too much about that. Instead, I focused on her generosity and her trust in me and Ethan to look after this place, something she took great pride in.

Harriet gifted a pretty hefty chunk of change to Doc Warren, a donation into research he'd been doing for some time on the disease she had, as well as others that had mystified him over the years. A small sum was gifted to Ethan and I, as well, just enough to line our pockets for a week or so.

"And to Daphne," the lawyer said, trailing off.

"Who's Daphne?" Ethan asked, confusion on his face.

"Her daughter," the lawyer replied solemnly. "It appears she couldn't make it. Or didn't want to."

I'd never heard much about Harriet's daughter, and I only knew that she lived far off, in the cities somewhere. We listened as the lawyer listed the things that would be given to her, including a property, some 150 acres of it, somewhere far east of Augustine. Aside from that, she was given the remainder of Harriet's money, money I never even knew she had, and was given all of her belongings.

The lawyer asked that I see to packing up Harriet's things and shipping them to Daphne, and I agreed somberly. After he handed me a slip of paper with the woman's name and address on it, he left, as did Doc Warren. Together, Ethan and I stood in the empty, quiet dining room, looking all around, eyeing every corner of the place. Seeing it through new eyes, as owners rather than just employees, it took on a whole knew meaning, a whole new purpose. We wouldn't let Harriet down, just like she had never let us down.

"I can't believe she's gone," I said aloud, staring hard at the old wood floors as if they held an answer to making the hurt of Harriet's passing subside. I could hear Ethan agree as he walked around the place, piping off this thing and that thing that needed cleaned, fixed, or moved. I was only listening half-heartedly, though, because all I could think about was how alone I felt. First my mother, and now Harriet. Though I felt shame and disgust having ever even thought it, I wanted nothing more than to see the man in black again in my dreams, to see his shadowed face and hear his distant voice calling to me, making me feel less alone.

Hours later, Ethan left for the night, the pull of some pretty young thing too strong to keep him at the inn all the way up until closing. I saw him out with a grin, and though his departure left me alone to tend to both of our duties, I wouldn't have asked him to stay even if he hadn't any plans. After Harriet's passing, the place was too dreary for me to wish on anyone. Besides, we all had our way of coping.

The usual night routine went about fairly quickly, even by myself, so to keep my mind from overworking itself amidst the rare silence of the Black Horse, I got a jumpstart on packing Harriet's things to ship off to Daphne. After an hour or so, I'd made quite a bit of progress, and even got some cleaning done in the pantry. I decided to call it a night when I had all but two boxes full, but I heard the bell ring, suggesting someone had come into the inn. I was sure I'd locked the door.

"We're closed," I yelled as I came out into the dining room from the storage room, some porcelain trinkets in my hand that I'd not had time to set down. I was intent on telling whoever was out there that they'd need to come back tomorrow, but as I came through the doorway, I saw no one.

With a furrowed brow, I looked around and went to the door, checking the lock and flipping the sign around to tell folks we were closed. I should have done it sooner. And as I turned the lock, I felt unease that I'd forgotten to do it earlier. I was almost positive I had, just as Ethan left.

When I turned to go back to the storage room, I felt a pricking up the back of my neck, and a sudden chill in my bones. Fear struck me then, but I couldn't tell you why I was afraid, only that I was. I chalked it up to paranoia - this was the first time I'd ever been in the Black Horse alone, with no one upstairs or down. Up until then, I never realized how eerie the place could be.

As I reached the doorway to the storage room, the sound of a man's voice stopped me dead in my tracks. My blood ran cold, and I found myself unable to move, unable to turn and face him.

"Working late tonight?"

It was him, the man who'd become my guilty pleasure. It was the man who'd made me fall prey to his spell, who'd intoxicated me nearly every night for the last year, the same man who'd abruptly left me in the cold several weeks back. I knew this all just by the sound of his voice.

Slowly, I turned to face him, visibly shaking. The moment my eyes met him, I gasped inaudibly. There he stood tall, dark, and cool, the brim of his hat still preventing me from seeing him entirely.

I had wished for him only hours before, wished that he would come back to me. But I hadn't anticipated him actually appearing before me, and I hadn't truly wanted it. In the flesh, he terrified me, whereas in my dreams, he brought me a strange sense of comfort. He provoked shame, as well, on the days that I would remind myself who he was and what he had done, that he was responsible for my mother's death.

I'd wasted many hours those past few weeks thinking of what I'd do if ever I came across him again. Despite the fact that he was solely responsible for many nights of pleasure, I still regarded him as a monster, even more so after his display within Sola Mira. I told myself, after going there with the Priests, that if I ever saw him again, I would kill him without a second thought, or at least I would try. But there I stood, blinded by fear, vengeance for my mother's death the furthest thing from my mind.

"Finally, I have you alone." His voice was low, gravelly, and it made me shiver.

When he took a slow step toward me, I found the will to move and dashed to the kitchen, dropping the trinkets in the process. They shattered when they hit the floor, and as I tore into the kitchen my hand gripped around a large knife. I turned in a fear-induced flurry, stepped back out into the dining room, and threw the knife at him. He dodged it as he came upon me, pinning me to the wall by my wrists and my neck, his hand snuggly around my throat.

I was sure I was about to die, that this was it. I knew this man had finally, after all this time, come to finish what he'd started so many months ago. He'd come to suck me dry and go about his life, with me just another meal in his belly, another life lost so that he could have his sustenance. And as his breathing grew more and more ragged like some beast, sighing as he exhaled, I was sure that moment would come within my next breath. I screwed my eyes shut tightly, bracing myself for the end as he leaned closer to me, but the end never came.

Instead, the man in black kissed me. It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it rough. It was frenzied in its intensity, hurried and hungry and passionate, a thousand times more penetrating than anything I had ever dreamed. And boy had I dreamed it. I was resistant initially, my eyes open wide in confusion and fear and unaccustomed to a man devouring me in such a way. I was not adept at this sort of thing, nor was I oblivious, but this man was nothing like any man who had ever touched me, kissed me, or looked me in the eye.

He tore away then, his eyes boring into me, searching for an answer to a question he hadn't asked. I cursed his damned hat - even in the light of the kitchen, it shadowed too much of his face for me to see him as a whole. But I could still see the faint glow of his eyes, the stubble that littered his jaw, the tip of his nose, his hungry lips, and his threatening fangs. I swallowed hard as my eyes fell on them.

The man stared at me fiercely, his eyes boring into me so intently that I felt as if my knees might buckle. It seemed that he was trying to permeate my soul with his stare, and the longer he held my gaze, the more slack he gave around my throat. His thumb gently stroked the side of my neck.

This time, when his lips came crashing down upon mine, I didn't resist him, my mouth opening for his eagerly. Although I was still hesitant and confused, the burning desire this man seemingly had for me had created quite a fuss between my legs, and I could feel myself growing wet as a result of his unrestrained behavior.

His tongue dove into my mouth, meeting mine for a duel, and it felt as if a fire was consuming us both, taking us both to Hell with it. Shame was growing inside me as I enjoyed it more and more. When he roughly released my neck and pulled my hips into him with his strong hands, grinding me against him, a moan erupted from me into his mouth, causing heat to rise in my cheeks.

"Ow!" I hissed as he drew back suddenly, releasing me entirely.

Seemingly of their own volition, my fingers slowly came up to my mouth, trembling, cautiously feeling around until my fingertips became wet. As I pulled them away and had a look, I saw that my blood was all over them. I'd cut my tongue on his fang, hard enough to draw blood.

Hesitantly, I looked up at the man whose eyes were glowing brighter now. His breathing was rough, even rougher than before, and his eyes were fixed on my blood. All he did was stare at my lips and my fingers, back and forth between the two as if he was mesmerized.

"Forgive me," he said, snapping himself out of the trance he'd found himself in. He turned from me then, breathing heavily, his broad shoulders rising and falling as I stood in silent confusion.

"I don't understand…" I said, confused by his display. If he was there to drain me dry, why was he apologizing? "Are you gonna kill me?"

He chuckled briefly as he turned to face me. "No."

I swallowed hard, that hungry look on his face making me uncomfortable. I started to back up slowly, but I didn't get very far before I hit the wall. He came upon me again, his footfalls heavy and slow, desire overtaking him once more as his eyes glowed brighter by the second.

"I want to consume you."

_**A/n: Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoyed! **__**J**_


	5. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

The fear was gone from me completely as I found my legs wrapped tightly around his waist, my back pressed firmly against the door to my room. I couldn't tell you how or when we made it up the stairs, but there we were, tearing at one another's clothing like savages.

I fumbled with the door handle and we tumbled inside where he threw me down on the bed. He towered over me as he pulled me by my legs so that I came to lie on the edge. I sat up quickly, my shaking hands stressing over the waist of his trousers. All the while, he'd removed his overcoat, and was stripping himself of his shirt, leaving me to stop and stare at his bare chest for a long moment.

When my pace slowed, he picked up my slack, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his boots at the same time. I continued to stare at him, marveling at his body, pale and toned and inviting my hands and my mouth to explore every inch of him, from the short hair on his chest to the V-shape of muscle that disappeared beneath his trousers.

I reached for his pants then, and before I could slip them down around his hips, his hands fisted themselves in my hair and he gently pulled my head back so that I was looking up at him. He was still wearing that damn hat.

The only light in the room was spilling in through the windows from the street lamps outside. In our haste, neither of us had lit the oil lamps that sat upon my desk and bedside table. I could see his eyes in the darkness, brightly shining due to his arousal, and he held my gaze as I slowly pulled his pants down to his ankles. Only after he was exposed to me did he let me break away, to take in the sight of his thick member, eye level and yearning for me to reach out and touch it.

Without a second thought, my tongue came out to flick the head of his cock, and I could hear him inhale sharply as the warmth of my tongue met his skin. I'd been told that vampires were cold to the touch, but this man radiated heat like a coal furnace in the heart of winter, his desire burning through his skin and spilling out onto me.

I took him in my mouth entirely, and he urged me onward, his hands guiding me by the hair as the length of him teased the back of my throat. I gagged slightly before he pulled my head back, granting me a reprieve as he slid out through my lips, my saliva glistening on him in the moonlight. We kept a steady pace, his strong hands guiding me onto him, in and out as he breathed heavily, moaning here and there. My fingernails dug into the flesh of his backside, pulling him to me harder every time he pulled me away, every time he slid out of my mouth. I admit the actions were not the most comfortable, but regardless of that fact, I was eager to taste him more and more as his moans intensified and his grip in my hair became stronger. I found that the more his arousal grew, the stronger the ache between my legs became.

Suddenly, he stopped, pulling me away from him and stepping out of his trousers in the same movement. I was disappointed, my eyes locked on his rock hard cock, and all I wanted to do was touch it again. But before I could make any movement to do so, he'd pulled me up from where I knelt and threw me on the bed, this time joining me in the softness of the sheets, crisp and white and smelling faintly of the desert breeze.

Towering over me, he slowly reached up and removed his hat, tossing it to the ground as his eyes roamed over my overdressed body. The moment it connected to the floor with a thud, however, his hands began making quick work of my clothing. Unable to find the patience or time to properly remove it, he ripped at the top of my chemise, splitting it haphazardly down the center until it met my bodice, exposing my breasts to him. I gasped as his actions sent a jolt of electricity down between my thighs, exciting me to no end.

His mouth descended upon my left breast, the warmth of his tongue circling my nipple before biting it gently. I inhaled with a shiver as my fingers ran through his hair, and I felt as if his touch alone was electric. His hand cupped my other breast, his thumb teasing my flesh as he continued working with his mouth. As my nipples both hardened beneath his ministrations, I could feel my hips bucking gently of their own volition. But unlike before, shame was the farthest thing from my mind - I wanted nothing more than to have this man inside me.

When his mouth released my breath, he pulled himself over me so that our eyes met. It was the first time I'd seen his whole face. The near-darkness of the room did me no favors, but I could still see him clearly, and I smiled as I panted. The tell-tale sign of his past was there on his face, the thick, brown cross etched into his skin. I reached up and very slowly ran a finger along the long line of the cross from his forehead to his nose. He looked down at me thoughtfully, and I thought perhaps he would speak, but instead, his mouth came down on mine again and his tongue was instantly in my mouth.

It seemed to ebb and flow, his intensity, and at that moment, it was at its peak. He hungrily kissed me as his erection pressed into me through the thin cotton of my dress. It was short lived, though. He lifted his hips from mine, his fingers pulling the skirt of my dress up past my hips. The coolness of the air made goosebumps raise from the skin of my thighs, and he parted them quickly, pulling one up around his waist.

I was ready, more than ready, for him to plunge inside me, but he had different plans. He began thrusting gently against me, his cock bypassing my entrance and sliding up and down my slit, shamelessly drenched in my juices. When I clawed at him, one of his strong hands pinned both of my wrists to the bed, rendering me unable to pull him harder against me. I thrust my hips upward as a mewling sound came from my throat, frustrated that he was teasing me in such a manner, and even more frustrated that I could do nothing about it. No, every time I tried to bring him closer with my legs, every time I tried to grind against him, he would pull away, intent on making me suffer, chuckling as I whimpered.

"Please…" I found myself whispering breathlessly. "Please."

My voice seemed to darken his mood, taking from him that light-hearted teasing, and causing a dark cloud to rise above him. His eyes grew brighter, his pupils dilating almost instantly. He released my wrists as he leaned in closer to me, our chests flush against one another. His presence was intoxicating and overwhelming, and I picked my head up from the bed, reaching out to kiss him, thinking this is what he had in mind. But, instead, his lips tickled the side of my ear in a whisper.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice thick with arousal. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me shiver with anticipation.

"You," I said eagerly.

"Tell me what you want," he reiterated, emphasizing each word, speaking slower so I would understand. He kissed my neck gently as he ground his hips into mine, allowing me to feel how hard he was. I wrapped my arms around his strong back tightly, my fingernails sinking into his flesh, and keened. My center ached for him painfully, wanting nothing more than for him to come inside and tend to the fire he'd been stoking for nearly a year.

"I want you inside of me," I said shamelessly, my voice almost pathetic in its yearning. "Please."

The man in black growled and he lifted himself off of me, my hips rising to meet him as he positioned himself at my opening. His eyes never left mine, the desire behind his utterly staggering, and he paused for a brief moment before plunging inside of me, causing me to gasp as he filled me completely. I'd known the feeling before, though it had been quite awhile since the last time, but this physical feeling fused with some mental spark I couldn't describe made it so much more intense - I felt like every nerve ending inside of me was being struck by lightning.

His thrusts were unhurried and passionate and one hand snaked into my hair as he kissed me. Our tongues danced together, and as his body was pressed against mine, sliding in and out of me, I felt secure and content. Before now, these were not feelings I would have associated with this man. But just as I was beginning to adjust to him, just as I was growing comfortable with his slow, deep movements, his rhythm increased, as did his forcefulness.

The harder he thrusted inside of me, the more I cried out, louder and louder until the silence of the night dissipated. I could hear the man in black fighting back moans, and the few times he failed, the sound of him riled me more and more. The fuss of us colliding with one another echoed through the room, and if anyone else had been staying at the inn, they would surely would have woken from our love making.

In one sudden movement, the man in black jerked me upright from where I lay to straddle him. A strong arm wrapped around my back while the other found its way around my hips. His fingers gripped into my backside, urging me to ride him. And I did, hard and fast until my hair stuck to the back of my neck from the sweat of my exertions. I coiled my arms around his neck, pulling him in close to look into his eyes, all the while quickening my pace. Despite being as close as humanly possible, I felt as if I couldn't get close enough, and judging by how tightly he held me to him, I wasn't the only one who felt that way.

There was a silent command behind those peculiar irises of his, telling me to let go, to go over the edge. As his grip around me strengthened, I could feel the tension building within him. And I wasn't far behind. My breathing was becoming increasingly erratic, and my fingernails were gripped into his shoulders so deeply I was sure I would draw blood, but as my climax exploded within me, I could focus on nothing but how good it felt. I shook as I clenched wildly around his cock, my hips unable to stop thrusting all the while, and it sent him over the edge after me, growling as he unleashed himself inside me.

Suddenly, I felt an intense sting pierce my neck, and I was instantly paralyzed by fear. I cried out as the pain registered, as my blinding orgasm dissipated, and I tried to move away when I realized that the man in black had sunk his teeth into me. Try as I might, though, I couldn't get away. His arms were around me, holding me to him, his member still inside of me, leaving me helpless and unable to move.

I felt faint as he drank his fill of me. Panic set in, fear that I was going to die, that I had been seduced by this monster and it was all a ruse to get me to give myself to him. I could hear him sucking, his faint growls from his chest rumbling against mine, and tears began to collect in my eyes as I thought my end was near. I'd avoided death so many times before that surely my luck had finally run out.

But then he stopped. He pulled away from me suddenly, licking the faint trace of my blood from his lips neatly, no mess to be seen. His eyes were inflamed, even more so than when his arousal peaked, and it frightened me. I no longer felt safe in his arms.

The moment his eyes locked with mine though, the moment he saw the fear in them, the tears, his pupils shrank, and the intense yellow glow calmed significantly. There was remorse in his eyes where his voice had failed to penetrate the silence, and I saw his mouth open, his lips move just barely, as if he were going to speak but couldn't find the right words.

"I'm sorry," he finally said in exasperation, his words coming out barely more than a shocked whisper.

He began to compose himself quickly, coming off of his high, and took in everything around him. My arms were no longer around his neck, but braced against his chest where I had tried to push him away only moments before. His fingers were digging painfully into my flesh where he had stayed my body, not permitting me to get away from him as he penetrated me in the one way I hadn't allowed him to. The moment he realized he was hurting me, his grip loosened, and I took the opportunity to scurry backward on the bed, bringing my knees up to my chest. It reminded me of the night on the wagon when we had first been acquainted, and that same fear gripped me again.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, reaching out to me. I flinched away from him, trying to disappear into the wall behind the bed to no avail, and he put his hand up to show me he meant no harm, retreating so that I wouldn't be afraid. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Mary."

There was evident sorrow in his eyes, a pleading for me to see that he was being sincere, and while I could see it and even feel it, it did little to take away from the fear and betrayal I felt. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally did, sliding slowly down my cheeks before getting caught in the corners of my mouth. His eyes followed their trail, and he turned away then, standing from the bed in shame. I had my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, and I was staring at his pale back, silently hoping that he would make this alright, that the facet of the man in black I had relied on to help me cope with my loneliness would somehow make me feel better again.

"Yours was the first," I heard him say in the darkness. He paused for a long moment as he began to dress, my curiosity growing all the while, before finally continuing, turning to face me as he spoke. "Yours was the first blood I tasted after I was turned. After my transformation was complete, I went to feed, to find an animal to sustain me. During our hunt, my new family and I came upon your caravan. And the closer we got-"

"You're a monster," I said, cutting him off, visions of that night flooding back to me ruthlessly. I berated myself for my stupidity, for my lack of willpower in resisting him, and shame was burning my face as the gravity of what had only just occurred sunk in. Despite how he had made me feel, I felt like a coward who had betrayed my mother, sleeping with the enemy instead of killing him.

His eyes brightened for only a split second, testament to the flicker of emotion that rose in him. The man had his heart not on his sleeve, but there in his eyes, telling the world when something affected him, and how much. I reckon that was good news for me, but it certainly didn't serve him well, least of all right then as I saw my words wound him.

"My mama died that night. She's dead because of you," I continued, waiting for his reply. He stood at the end of the bed staring at me, a troubled look in his eyes, mingled with confusion.

"I didn't kill your mother," he said simply as if I would believe him, but his words only caused me to scoff. He had to be a fool if he thought I'd let him lure me into his good graces again so easily, especially with a wound in my neck. "We were watching your caravan from the mountaintop. We were being careful, but one of the mercenaries saw us, and without thinking twice, he fired on us. We attempted to retreat, but they cut us off at the foot of the mountain, killing most of the vampires that were with me. We had no choice but to fight back."

"I don't believe you," I ground out. The more he spoke, the more enraged I became, disgusted.

"It's the truth, Mary. We never had any intention of attacking, nor did we provoke them."

"Then why were you watching us?" I inquired quickly as if I had just found a hole in his story, _the_ hole that would put his lies to rest.

His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. Whatever words were there in his mind were being thought about twice, and I could see the conflict on his face regarding whether or not to say what he was thinking. When he looked away from me uncomfortably, I asked again, my patience dwindling.

"_Why_ were you watching us?"

"I could smell you," he said suddenly, his eyes meeting mine again. "From miles away. I didn't know then how to control my senses, my urges. They were new to me. And when I caught wind of you, I followed the scent - you had the most intoxicating smell."

My eyebrows furrowed then, and I was starting to think he was daft. No longer did he have a hold over me. He sounded insane. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your mother was an unfortunate casualty of that unfortunate night," he said, averting the conversation away from this business of scents and intoxication. "But I didn't kill her, nor did any vampire. She caught a stray bullet in the chest."

"And how would you know that?" I inquired with narrow, disbelieving eyes.

"After I… tasted your blood," he managed to say quite hesitantly, "I couldn't pry myself from where we had retreated. The taste of you, it pulled me in, paralyzed me. And I couldn't leave until I saw you. That's when I saw your mother go down, trying to get back to the caravan, to you."

That he had stayed and watched the devastation continue to unfold, even after he'd been chased away repulsed me, and I was sure it was only to fuel some sick urge that was inside of him. But what he said about my mother shocked me more than anything else, and there was a hope in me, some sort of sudden desperation to keep my mother from pain, even after she was gone. Having been hit by a bullet, having died instantly, was much better a death than being attacked by a vampire. Still, I wasn't sure this man's word a damn, even if he did seem genuine through and through.

"The moment you came out of the wagon, I felt as if my heart had stopped beating," he continued. "I was awestruck. But when you saw your mother, I could feel your pain. I could feel so much of you, much more than you realize. It's an effect that comes when the person whose blood you've tasted still lives. I've learned now how to control it, how to dampen that connection and close that door, but with you, I never wanted to. In fact, all I wanted to do was take your pain away." He paused for a moment, letting me take in all of this information. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what to do with it. "I fell in love with you that night. And I've been looking for you ever since."

My eyes grew wide as I looked into his in the dark. Without clothing and blankets, I found myself growing cold, and the arms around my legs tightened. But to be honest, I felt an inkling of fear with the disbelief washing over me. I wasn't sure if I should find his admission endearing or disgusting, or both, mingled with a bit of something else, too. I was completely flabbergasted, and I had no idea how to process this information. Good Lord, what had I gotten myself into?

"I don't know what to say to that…" I said, trailing off in shock. His words were echoing in my head, and the more I thought about it, the more stressful everything became. My feelings were mixed, my thoughts jumbled. I couldn't get that night out of my head from a year ago, the images of my mother's lifeless body lying there in the dirt. Now, here he was, the man who I believed had been responsible, telling me that what I knew was a lie and worse, that he was in love with me.

I looked at him for a long moment, still feeling betrayed and disgusted, hopeless and alone. In a sense, he was the closest thing I'd ever felt to love, to a best friend, as he was there with me constantly, both in my dreams and in my thoughts. We shared a connection, that's true, but it was foolish to think it was for any other reason than him having tasted my blood. It was a lustful connection, obsessive and impure, and even though I'd spent my nights relishing it, I knew that it had to stop.

Looking up at him, my vision was obscured by tears and my heart burned with sadness, grief, and anger. Though parts of me ached in protest as my mind made its conclusion that I was being tricked, that he was standing before me lying, I shut the pain out. I didn't want to say what I knew I had to, and it pained me to speak, but I finally was able.

"Get out. I don't want to see you ever again. Not in my dreams, my thoughts, and sure as hell not in the flesh. Just go away." My lip was quivering as I spoke, and my tears were on the verge of spilling again. There was a voice inside me that screamed to take the words back, to keep them from ever being uttered in the first place, but I couldn't help the anger and the hurt that I felt when I looked into his eyes. And I wanted it all to go away.

He grimaced as I spoke of my wishes, but he made no move, neither in action nor in words, to change my mind. The fall of his face, the spark in his eye dying out like the last ember of a cold night's fire, told me that his heart had just shattered into a million pieces. Only I could pick them up and mend them, but I wouldn't. Not until I knew for certain that what he said was true, not while I had bite marks in my neck.

"Very well," he said in a choked whisper, his eyes lingering on mine, wincing in pain. He put on his coat and retrieved his hat before making for the door, pausing as he reached for the handle. Although I was angry and hurt by the night's events, by the revelations, it pained me even more that he didn't look back as he walked through the doorway and left me in silence.

He didn't even say goodbye.

_**A/N: Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, your reviews are greatly appreciated - I'm incredibly grateful that you guys enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it! **_


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

The next morning, I was abruptly awoken by the sound of pounding on my door. I was up in an instant, scurrying around in a state of panic that I'd overslept. It had been difficult to get any sleep the night before, and most of the dark hours after the man in black left were spent crying and wishing he'd come back and branding him a liar all in the same breath. I was exhausted and worn, my eyes puffy and sore as I dressed hurriedly. As Ethan was shouting from the other side of the door that the inn would be opening soon, I rushed out of my room, missing my reflection in the mirror as I sped by.

It wasn't until midday, when I'd pulled my hair up into a bun, that Ethan looked at me strangely.

"What happened?" he inquired with concern.

I looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Your neck," he said. "Did you get bit by something?"

Although Ethan asked it with the most innocent of culprits in mind—a desert beetle, perhaps—the blood drained from my face as my mind caught up and my memory told me exactly what it was. I left the kitchen in a hurry without saying a word, tearing off my apron as I made for the washroom. Once inside, I stared at myself in the mirror, eyes locked with my reflection. After a few moments of heavy inhales and even heavier exhales, I was finally able to look at my neck, the breath leaving me when last night came flooding back to me. I'd tried in vain to convince myself, as the hours passed that morning, that it hadn't been real, but there was the proof.

There were tears in my eyes for a number of reasons as I reached for a spare hand towel in the closet. The copper pipes groaned as I turned the knob, wetting the corner of the towel before wiping at my blood encrusted wound. No doubt, when I searched my sheets later, there'd be reminders of last night all over them, the blood from my neck, the smell of our sex. Despite my best efforts to avoid thinking about it, those images dominated my thoughts: the ecstasy he brought, the bite, the confessions of both his love and his innocence. The latter was what troubled me the most. I had acted on that information when I sent him away and told him never to come back. It ate at me that I could be wrong.

_I don't want to see you ever again._

My fingers stopped moving as those words echoed in my head. A mixture of guilt and worry were swirling within me as I thought about this, doubting now if I had made the right decision. I had heard him out, yes, but I didn't give him a chance, condemning him instead because of what he was and where he had been the night my mother died. But I needed to know if he was telling the truth, and I realized I would never truly be able to, not without some help.

As I washed the blood off of the towel and surveyed my neck, I fought desperately to contain my emotions. The bite was merely faint punctures, clean and irritated from my ministrations, already scabbing over. I stood staring at it for a moment and realized that the only person who could help me with this would be the sheriff. In the end, I asked Ethan to cover for me as I hastily left the inn. This couldn't wait.

†††

Hurrying through town, I felt as if the Devil himself were nipping at my heels, whispering doubts in my ear that made my heart grow heavy. My skirts were bunched in my hands as I ran, moving through the crowded, dusty streets with precision. I avoided merchants and children, dogs and chickens, as my mind was set on only one thing. Finally, when the sheriff's office door came into view, I felt a surge of hope and relief, and the prickle on the back of my neck subsided as I barged through the front door.

Eddie, one of the sheriff's deputies, was sitting behind an old wooden desk, papers scattered about as he stressed over his pen. At first, he didn't hear me, not looking up as he struggled to remove the ink canister from the chamber, presumably to change it. But when I marched up to the desk breathing heavy, he had no choice but to look up.

"Where's the sheriff, Eddie?" I asked with some urgency.

As Eddie's eyes met mine, the ink cartridge popped from his fountain pen, sending ink all over the front of his uniform. He forgot me for the moment, cursing under his breath about how his wife was sure to kill him for bringing her a stain so ghastly, but I couldn't muster up the patience to even crack a smile.

"Eddie!" I snapped, irritation thick in my tone. "Where is the sheriff?"

Falling victim to my intolerance, he looked up again and sighed. "He's down at the barbershop, Mary. But you can't-"

I didn't have time to hear Eddie's warning as I left the office in a hurry, navigating the streets once again with a new goal in mind. Of course, I knew what Eddie's warning was all about. The barbershop, Brinkman's, was more of a gentlemen's club than it was a plain old barbershop. As a result, there were no women allowed, with the exception of the few who worked there to entertain the men. It was a place the more sophisticated of the married fellows of Jericho went to escape their wives and children to get a clean shave, have a smoke, and share a story or two.

But gender rules didn't matter much to me then, and I turned the knob to the shop and stormed in without so much as an apology. All of those inside turned to regard me, the barbers, the patrons, and the provocatively clad women fussing over the clients - each of them seemed shocked to see me. When the sheriff met my eye, a large cigar hanging from his mouth, he seemed the most taken aback. By the way I looked at him, I was sure he knew that he was the man I sought.

I held the gaze of the owner, waiting for his threat to come that would effectively have me hauled out and plopped on my rear in the street, but as I walked toward the sheriff, the threat never came. In fact, all I got were curious looks.

"Sheriff, I need to talk to you," I said under my breath, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my impulsive course of action. I knew what most people in Jericho thought of me, and the last thing I wanted was them to overhear my business any more than they already had. My sudden appearance at Brinkman's was enough to get their gossip going the moment I left and I had no desire to add any fuel to that fire.

He pulled the cigar from his mouth, held deftly between two fingers, and held his chin up as the barber stroked shaving foam onto his neck. "Well, you sure could have fooled me, darlin'," he replied with a chuckle, no doubt amused by my flustered appearance.

Not in the mood for mirth on any scale, I got right to it, standing close enough to him that I could get by with a whisper. I could see everyone else straining to hear, to fall into some juicy scandal, while simultaneously trying hard not to look conspicuous. They were terrible at it.

"How did my mother die?" I asked quietly, my brow knitted. Dreading the answer, I breathed deeply, trying to stay calm as my insides did a series of somersaults. I feared that the man in black would be proved right, and, just as equally, that he would be proved wrong. In short, I was hanging on by a thread and nothing more.

The sheriff didn't seem to understand as his forehead furrowed in confusion. The barber was an old man with a face so hard and full of lines it looked almost cracked. He was notorious for his smooth, clean cuts, and though he was in the perfect position to soak up the latest gossip like a dried up sponge, he seemed unfazed by our conversation and went about the sheriff's shave without hesitance.

"I don't think I follow," the sheriff finally said.

I sighed, not knowing how to go about getting the information I was looking for. Although I could tell him that only the night before I had bedded the very vampire that supposedly killed my mother and that he claimed he was innocent of any wrongdoing, I didn't think that was the best course of action. If I said too much, I knew he would start to get suspicious. But if I said too little, he might not give me anything.

"Did a vampire kill my mama, or was she shot?" I asked point blank, knowing I had to take the risk to get the information I was after. I must have spoken too loud, though, because I could see several heads pop up and people stop moving the moment the word 'vampire' slipped from my lips.

The question further confused the sheriff and he sat up, motioning toward the barber to give him a moment. In so doing, the ash at the end of his cigar fell from its tip, scattering soot all over his lap, though he didn't take notice. His face was stern as he looked up at me from where he sat, quite the sight half-covered in shaving cream. For a split second, I found myself wondering who would win a staring contest between he and the man in black.

"What exactly are you asking me, sugar?"

"I'm asking you if my mama died by vampire attack or by bullet," I reiterated slowly. This time around, I didn't bother trying to stay quiet as the whole barbershop had heard me anyway. They were all intently watching our exchange, eager to see how this would play out, eager to be firsthand witnesses to the rumors that would surely be spread by day's end. The sheriff looked around at them and they went back to their work, his hard features threatening them silently, more so than the gun on his hip ever could.

"Your caravan was attacked by vampires, Mary," he said as if it had somehow not been obvious to me. But I didn't like the way he was avoiding the question, and I said as much.

"That's not what I asked you," I pointed out, my emotions stirring more and more as I felt like the sheriff was hiding something from me.

As he stood, he wiped away the remaining shaving foam with the towel that hung loosely around his neck before snuffing his cigar in the ashtray on the vanity in front of him. After exchanging a few words with the barber and handing him his tip, he declared that he'd be back later, and then ushered me outside.

Once in the crowded streets, I questioned him again, but he told me we'd talk when we got to his office. I was a fit of nerves, jittery and wanting to run back to the sheriff's station as fast as my feet would take me, if only to get the answer that much quicker. The fact that he seemed to want to keep our exchange private did nothing to deter my unease.

Finally, we arrived, and I hastily bypassed the front desk, heading straight for the sheriff's office where I'd been countless times before. Not only had I been there to give an initial statement on the attack when I first arrived in Jericho, but I also delivered baked goods from Harriet every now and again, as well as beat the roosters to it one early June morning to report a break-in at the Black Horse.

The sheriff closed the door behind me and I took a seat across the desk from him. He didn't seem nearly so antsy, walking languid and cool around to his seat in no particular hurry. He regarded me thoughtfully, but his face was less confused now. He definitely knew something — his earlier bewilderment had only been a show.

"Where would you get the idea that your mama was shot?" he asked calmly.

Declaring that a vampire had told me was not an option, so I had to think quickly, lest he seem suspicious.

I shrugged, looking down at my fidgeting hands in my lap — if he could put on a show, then so could I. "I had a dream is all. More like a memory, I guess," I began, lying easily. "I just remember seeing her, and seeing all of the others, and she looked different. She wasn't all tore up like they were. And she was the only one with an open casket, you remember?" He nodded. "It got me to thinking why that might be."

The sheriff looked uneasy as he nodded again, not saying a word. It was evident, still, that he was hiding something, that he was refusing to tell me the truth for one reason or another. And honestly, I didn't care what the truth was, as long as I knew it.

When he sat there in silence for what seemed an eternity, thinking to himself, I called him back to the present. "Sheriff?"

"Are you looking to press charges against someone, Mary?" he asked suspiciously. "Trying to find someone to place the blame on for your mother's death?"

Not thinking for a moment he'd jump to that conclusion and simultaneously understanding exactly why he'd think it, I shook my head quickly.

"No, sir. Not at all. It's just… I get these nightmares. Remember the man I told you about? He comes to me, still, like he's taunting me. And I just thought, after having the dream I had, that maybe my mama wasn't just some meal for him. I thought it was worth looking into."

I shrugged again as I hung my head. My lie was believable enough, and I acted it out as best I could. When I finally looked up at the sheriff, I had conjured up a few fake tears, enough to make my eyes sparkle but not enough to fall. Seeing his face soften at the sight told me that he'd bought it.

"If someone shot her on accident, sheriff, I'm not seeking revenge," I continued. "I'm not after that. It's just that, if she did die that way, I'd want to know. It would help me move on knowing it was quick, that she didn't suffer. That she wasn't just some casualty of those monsters."

I waited for my words to sink in, for him to understand that all I wanted was answers and not vengeance. Continuing to hold up my sorrowful façade, I watched his face as he deliberated silently, thinking about whether or not to tell me whatever it was that he knew.

"Mary," he started, pausing for a moment to sort out his thoughts. "Yes." He sighed heavily. "Your mama did die by gunfire. But it was an accident, you have to know that. It was dark and there was a lot going on that night, a lot of confusion, a lot of chaos."

Letting out a quivering breath, the one I hadn't realized I'd been holding in, those fake tears I'd been able to materialize morphed into real tears as reality brutally slapped me in the face. The man in black had been telling the truth, and that knowledge was too much for me to bear. I began bawling right there in the sheriff's office, sitting across from him with my head in my hands. After a moment, he got very uncomfortable, perhaps fearing that telling me the truth had been the wrong thing to do.

His chair scraped against the wood floor as he stood and came around the desk, putting his arms around my shoulders as he kneeled next to me. In a comforting, soothing fashion, his big, calloused hand gently rubbed my back like I was a small child. I think it was the only thing he knew to do.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I shouldn't have told you." He kept saying those words over and over again, deeply regretting the admission, until I finally composed myself enough to look up at him and speak.

"No. No, it's okay," I lied. "Better that way than how I thought she died." Despite a sense of relief that my mother hadn't suffered, I was a wreck, grief flooding me like a dam unleashed. I knew now that I'd made a mistake sending the man in black away, even if I hadn't felt entirely at ease with him.

I stood as I tried to contain my tears, wiping them from my cheeks and my eyes in an attempt to pull myself together before I resurfaced on the streets of Jericho. I rubbed the backs of my wet hands on my skirts and took a deep breath, managing a sad smile at the sheriff when I finally managed to look him in the eye. Suddenly, my sadness took a backseat as curiosity overtook me.

"Why didn't you tell me before, sheriff?"

By the way he hung his head, I could tell this was a sense of embarrassment for him. He was one of the few who had been unabashedly kind to me since coming to Jericho, even knowing the circumstances of the night the vampires attacked. He'd been the first there and the last to leave, the one who told me everything would be okay. Perhaps that's why he and his deputies were lacking in the cruel judgment the rest of Jericho upheld — because they'd seen it firsthand and knew the horrors that others could only imagine, mutating them into something even more insidious out of fear and sensationalism. I knew just by looking at him that withholding this information from me had been difficult for him to do, and now that it had come out, he felt ashamed.

"We were trying to protect one of the deputies. It was a bad call on my part, sweetheart, and I'm sorry."

I nodded, understanding his reasoning, though not entirely agreeing. Despite him not mentioning the deputy at fault, I already knew who it was. Eddie had been there that night, and he hadn't been in the field ever since, instead sitting behind a desk and mucking up his uniform with faulty pens and ample user error. There was a twinge of anger in me, long repressed and threatening to roar, but it was dampened significantly by the sorrow I felt that I had been wrong about the man in black. As much as I hated his shadowing hat, I longed to see it again.

"Thank you, sheriff," I said with an empty smile as I made for the door slowly. When my hand met the knob, his voice stopped me.

"Don't you want to know who it was?" he asked curiously.

"No," I said with a faint shaking of my head as I stared at his apologetic eyes. "I don't need to know."

†††

My mind was reeling as I made my way back to the Black Horse, the urgency in my steps now gone. I felt lost in a sea of tumultuous emotions, like I was playing a game of tug-of-war and there could never be a victor. For a moment, I would justify my actions from the night before, telling myself that I had no way of knowing, that even if he hadn't killed my mother, his 'family' as he'd referred to them, was still responsible indirectly. And then the very next moment, I'd go back to feeling a perilous sadness that I'd made a mistake, that now, I truly was alone. My mother was gone, Harriet was gone, and now the man in black. The only shred of comfort I felt was knowing that my mama had died quickly and not suffered at the hands of any beast.

When I walked through the door of the inn, it was nearly lunchtime and the dining room was crowded and noisy. I pushed aside my thoughts and kicked into overdrive, disappearing into the kitchen to find that Ethan and the new waitress, Dina, were heavily overworked. I agreed to take several tables off her hands, and returned to the floor weighed down with a tray of food.

As I delivered dish after dish, the bell above the door chimed as it opened and closed. Out of habit I looked up, and my face immediately fell when I saw seven figures spill into the inn, all of them clad in black. Heading the group was Nathaniel who had a somber look on his face. By the way he eyed me, I knew that I was the person they'd come to see. Ignoring the dread that had suddenly formed in the pit of my stomach, I forced a smile to my face and delivered food to the ravenous patrons at table number four.

People were staring at the Priests as they stood by the door, and Dina came to seat them at a free table. I watched as they exchanged words between them, and I vanished into the kitchen the moment Nathaniel met my eyes for the second time. Their arrival proved that my day had just become a bigger headache. Not only did I have to contend with the new knowledge I had of the man in black and the emotions that followed, but I now had to contend with the Priests, as well. And I had a feeling that whatever reason they were here certainly wasn't a good one.

Dina came back into the kitchen as I was tying an apron around my waist, intent on taking some of the load off of Ethan who was scrambling around with this and that, barely a moment enough to breathe. He had sweat dripping from his brow, the hair on the back of his neck soaked, as well, and I felt bad that he was so overworked in the kitchen now that Harriet was gone. When she was still here, she'd done most of the baking, waking up before the roosters crowed and the sun rose to prepare her loaves and get the slow cooked meats going. With her gone, it was just Ethan, and he refused to hire anyone to help him, not until, as he put it, 'we get a feel for the finances'. Hiring Dina was gamble enough.

"Those Priests asked for you. So you can take table two," Dina said nonchalantly, as if their arrival at our humble establishment was commonplace. She was unfazed by their presence, and instead of inquiring what they wanted or how I knew them or what was going on, she started spouting off their order to Ethan. Just before he started in on it, he handed me another order for a different. I took it gladly, inhaling deeply before returning to the congested dining room, nervousness overtaking my body. I avoided looking at their table, so I had no idea if they were sitting hunched and talking in whispers, or if Nathaniel was yet again looking at me. Instead, I took care of the patrons on the far side of the dining room, grateful that amongst the crowd, they could scarcely see me. When I went back to the kitchen for their order, however, there was absolutely no avoiding them.

"How's your investigation going?" I asked nervously as I handed them each a plate of beans, cornbread, and brined pork. I was taken aback when I realized that one of the faces beneath those heavy hoods was actually a woman. I hadn't seen her before, and I wondered if perhaps she'd been there all along and I merely overlooked her, taking her for a man. Word of the Priests didn't reach out here in Jericho very often, and even when it did, I never heard anything of women taking the vows. But sure enough, she was clad in the same dark raiment as the rest of them, that same eye-catching tattoo bled into her skin.

But my mind didn't have much thought to spare on the woman, as I was paranoid that any of them, Nathaniel especially, might somehow know intuitively what had transpired between me and the man in black the night before. They weren't mind readers, true, but I was never good at hiding things. And atop that, there were marks on my neck for all to see. Although I'd since put my hair down in an attempt to cover up the evidence, if one looked closely, the marks could still be seen. But far surpassing the fear that I'd be found out was the fear that the Priests had come bearing news I didn't want to hear, news that they'd caught the man in black or, worse, killed him.

"Our investigation was halted once we returned to the cities," he said lowly. "The church detained us for a time, but we're resuming our search again. We've gone to nearly all the reservations on the way here, come upon trivial groups of familiars and vampires, but nothing substantial. We're on our way to Sola Mira." Jericho was a day's ride from anywhere else, and I reckon that even on their motorbikes, they'd been on the road for some time. If that wasn't the case, they likely would have already ransacked Sola Mira, a prospect that made my breathing hitch.

Nathaniel didn't need to say any more, as I knew exactly what that meant. His words made my stomach drop, and the female Priest took notice of my change in demeanor. As she stared at me curiously, I avoided her gaze and instead looked around the dining room fitfully, paranoid someone may have overheard our conversation. But very few paid us much mind, busying themselves instead with their own conversations and their own company. And the ones who were catching glimpses and whispering theories were too far away to have heard.

"What are you planning to do?" I inquired, my voice lowering to a whisper involuntarily. I feared his answer - I could see that, beneath their robes, every one of them was heavily armed. Truth be told, I knew the answer before I even asked, yet I had some small hope that I might've been wrong.

He swallowed his food and looked me in the eye, his face hard and solemn.

"We're going to eradicate the threat."

_**A/n: Thanks for reading! Reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoyed! **__**J**_


	7. Chapter VII

_**Hey guys! I'm SUPER sorry for taking so incredibly long to update. With that being said, I'm also SUPER excited to be back. I participated in NaNoWriMo (I do it every year, so if you partake and want to be writing pals, feel free to add me under the same pen name), so I've been working on my own novel(s) for the past year or so. I'm trying my best to finish up this story in a timely and satisfactory manner because I love it, Black Hat, and all of you guys :) Thank you so much for being such faithful readers and reviewers. It means the world to me. Now, onward!  
>-Charlotte<strong>_

**Chapter VII**

I paced nervously by my bed once the Black Horse closed down for the night. The Priests were staying in rooms just down the hall, and though I should have been sleeping, the knowledge of their imminent actions was too troubling to ignore. I knew there wasn't anything I could do to stop them, short of confessing to Nathaniel what had transpired between me and the man in black and hoping against hope that he was a romantic deep down beneath that stoic countenance of his. But even if I had coin enough to rub together, I wouldn't bet on it.

With my mind reeling, I put on a pair of trousers and grabbed my coat and boots before going downstairs as quietly as I could, mindful of loose floorboards and rickety stairs. With every other step, I looked back up the stairwell for fear that I'd awoken someone, expecting to see disapproving eyes up there in the dark. It seemed, however, that no one was awake but me. My heart was beating faster and faster the closer I came to the Black Horse's entrance, and when my hand wrapped around the handle, I grabbed at the bell above the doorway in an attempt to make a near-silent exit.

There wasn't a soul in the streets of Jericho, the gas lamps having been long since extinguished, and I could see my breath in the air as the chill of the night tickled my skin. I wrapped my coat around me tightly as I headed down the dusty street. With every step I took, I felt as if I were being followed, and I looked over my shoulder often, but there was no one there. Attributing my unease to paranoia, I continued on until I reached my destination.

Just as the town was quiet, so were the stables, with the occasional shuffling coming from this stall or that from the few horses who weren't completely lost to sleep. As I looked into each stall, I scrutinized every mare and gelding until my eye caught the glint of metal at the end of the darkened structure. As I walked further toward it, the moonlight revealed to me the Priests' motorbikes. Though my intention was to take a horse, I recalled vividly how much speed their bikes produced, speed that I needed. If I left on horseback, they'd surely be able to catch up to me even if they chose to sleep well into the morning. I decided, as I wrapped my hand timidly around one of the handlebars, that it was better to have the advantage, even if stealing it wasn't ideal.

Watching over my shoulder the whole way through town, I trudged through the streets pushing one of the bikes along beside me. There was a deep gouge in the seat, something I'd noticed before when I rode with Nathaniel. When we'd gone to Sola Mira, I'd seen him operate the intimidating piece of machinery easily, and while I wasn't sure how, I was determined to figure it out. But with the town as quiet as it was, I couldn't risk the bike starting inside the stables, lest one of the Priests hear.

After I passed through the archway that marked Jericho's northern entrance, I saw that there was a number pad amongst various gauges. Every screen and bauble was dusted over, save four numbers on the keypad. Nathaniel's fingers must've pressed them a hundred times, thwarting the desert's build-up. With trembling fingers, I pressed the numbers in order as I saw them. One combination after another, it failed to start and my frustration mounted as I pounded the buttons again and again and again, each time more furious than the last. I was ready to turn it around and get a horse when the last possible combination made the screens light up. I laughed and sighed all at once, hope restored as the engine roared to life.

Quickly, I put on the goggles that hung from the handlebars and mounted the bike, grateful for the quiet way that it idled, a sound that only me and God could hear. The prospect of riding was daunting and I took a deep breath as I gripped the handles. The first and only time I'd been on the bike-any bike-had been that day to Sola Mira as a passenger. But even through my knotted nerves, I'd still managed to let my curiosity get the better of me enough to take a gander and get a feel for how she worked. And so, after a hard swallow and a silent prayer, I pulled back the throttle gently, relying heavily on my spotty memory, and pulled my legs up as it began to slowly roll forward.

A moment later, I stopped, losing my balance, and once again contemplated taking it back to the stables to exchange for a horse. Just because I'd ridden the thing once before didn't make me an expert, and the power it was capable of coupled with my ignorance made me uneasy. But my stubbornness won out - I knew that if I wished to succeed, I needed the speed only this bike could provide. I looked back over my shoulder at the empty streets of Jericho before trying again, and this time, I got a little farther before I needed to plant my feet in the dust to keep my balance. Only this time, I didn't stop completely, instead skidding the bottom of my boots briefly in the sand before picking them up again.

After half a dozen attempts of this foolishness, I'd finally managed to gain speed, marveling at my ability to stay upright. And when I felt confident, when I was far enough away from Jericho to let my wings fly, I turned on the headlamp and steered the bike in the direction we'd gone that fateful day when I first met the man in black.

†††

The ride there was one of uncertainty and fear, anticipation and dread. Despite handling the bike fairly well for a novice, I never once used all the speed it could give me. I was afraid that at any moment, I might find a way to upset her and crash in the middle of the Wastelands, no food or water on my person, irresponsibly forgotten in my emotional haste. But after the first half of the morning passed, I finally made it, convinced that I had a lead a good lead on the Priests.

Sola Mira stood before me in the distance, looking over the Wastelands like a dark cloud, ominous and frightening and daring anyone to venture forth and face the dire consequences. I swallowed the knot in my throat as I neared the base of the mountain, riding as far as I could before I was forced to continue on foot. For a moment, I fumbled with the stand on the bike, trying hard to keep it upright until my foot finally willed enough strength to kick it out. I leaned the bike on it cautiously, hesitant to pull my hands away lest it fall, uncertain that such a tiny piece of metal could really keep such a heavy machine upright.

As I looked up at the hive, I remembered how steep a climb it was, and I certainly wasn't looking forward to it. I'd only made it up before because the Priests had assisted me. In all honesty, I had no trust in my ability to make it to the top without succumbing to injury, but the only option was to turn around and go home, and I was hardly keen. The Priests were probably already on their way, spilling out from the Black Horse urgently, and despite my head start, they could show up any time - they weren't afraid to take their bikes to their limits, after all. So, if I ever wanted to see the man in black again, I knew I had to make it up there all by myself.

So I climbed, timidly at first, but more purposefully as my mind steadily focused on his eyes, his face, that confession he made in the darkness that night. I stopped frequently to take short breaks, my mouth parched and muscles sore, my hands bleeding and aching from gripping sharp, unforgiving rocks. Judging by the cruel heat, it was sometime around midday, the perfect time to suffer a sun stroke. My coat had been necessary before the sun rose, insulating me from the cold night air, but now it was of no use and, worse, cumbersome. I tugged at the sleeves and shrugged it off my shoulders, but even after I left it hanging on a jagged rock, I felt no relief. The desert would be no less hot even if I decided to divest myself of all raiment and prance around as naked as the day the good Lord brought me into this world. But I didn't linger long on how merciless the desert days could be, because the closer the entrance came, the more motivation I found myself to have. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it to the top.

Cool air hit me in the face when I stood at the entrance, hesitating as I looked back out toward the Wastelands, bright and dusty and dry, everything the hive inside wasn't. But after a moment, I faced Sola Mira's pitch black tunnel, pushing forward with intention, my eyes steadily adjusting to the dark. The cool, damp nature of the hive was a welcome contrast to the heat and humidity of the desert.

When the light from the entrance faded behind me, I had to step carefully, slowly, my hands running alongside the wall to keep my direction. I remembered seeing holes in the ground, pits and drops, when I had been here before, and the last thing I wanted was to fall prey to one. But finally, my efforts paid off, and I once again found myself presented with the large cavern in which the man in black had stood the first day I met him. There were slivers of sunlight filtering through cracks in the roof, and I looked around wildly for any sign of life, but I found nothing.

"Hello," I called, jumping slightly as I was assaulted with the loud echo of my own voices. It was so quiet, so still, that I wondered where everyone could be. Had the man in black caught wind of the Priests' actions and fled? Perhaps he'd seen or felt me coming and decided to pack up shop, too heartbroken to face me? Was it possible that the vampires that were here previously had been executed? And the man in black along with them? No, that I refused to believe.

"Hello!" I yelled again, this time louder, the desperation in my voice clear, though I tried and failed to keep it concealed. It was wasted energy, as it was apparent I was alone, once again met with nothing but my own voice paining my ears as tears gathered in my eyes.

"HELLO!"

Nothing but stillness.

"Michael?" I said finally, my voice softer, but still echoing. This is where I first learned his name, though I'd yet to say it aloud before now. It felt strange and foreign and blissfully wrong on my tongue, but when I got no response, I said it again, my tears now falling.

"Michael, I'm sorry," I pleaded in the darkness. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I'm so sorry."

I closed my eyes tightly, conjuring up his image in my mind and focusing on him with every ounce of strength I could muster. Tears slid, still, from beneath my eyelids and down my cheeks, and I mumbled the word 'please' again and again, hoping he would hear my quiet pleading, hoping he would come back. I didn't feel worthy of a second chance, yet I asked for one, trying desperately to remedy our severed connection from mind to mind. If he felt or heard me, it was not known to me - I couldn't feel him, devoid entirely of his presence, both physically and mentally. But I wouldn't accept that.

I was in the middle of the cavern now, crying freely, turning myself around in circles slowly. I kept looking in this direction or that as my mind played tricks on me, trying to convince me that the man in black was there when he wasn't, that I'd heard his footfalls or his low voice or maybe even sobs of his own. It never occurred to me that there might still be vampires lingering, that if there were and the man in black wasn't here, that I might be in grave danger.

But then I heard it, the growling, unmistakable and instantly instilling in me fear. I turned suddenly with a gasp, fright contorting my face, and once again, I found myself rooted to that cold, damp floor, unable to flee even as I feared for my life.

A creature crawled from the shadows, but it was one I'd never seen before. It was enormous, monumentally bigger than any vampire, and it stalked toward me with its teeth bared, predatory intention in every movement. Terror gripped my body, my chest tightened, and breathing became very difficult. The closer it came, the harder reality pressed down upon me with all of its painful, unforgiving weight. My life would soon come to an end as I stared death in the face that had no eyes.

Suddenly it lunged at me and I heard myself cry out again and again as my voice echoed all around. But my voice wasn't alone; accompanying it was a cry of pain, an agonizing roar that erupted from the menacing creature. I'd thrown my arms up in defense as I crumpled to the floor-the only movement I'd been capable of making-and I looked up to see why the creature cried out, wondering why I wasn't dead. Or maybe I was.

One look at the entrance of the cavern proved that I was very much alive, as I was met with the sight of Nathaniel standing tall and grim, several of his Priests behind him. He wasn't staring at me but at the beast, and I followed his gaze to look again at the colossal monstrosity which now laid at my feet. Breath by breath, the life faded from its twitching form as it bled out onto the dank cave floor. How it had come to meet its end was obvious - imbedded into its skull was a large knife.

"Mary," Nathaniel said finally, "Why have you come here?"

His voice was neither stern nor concerned, his face stoic. It was as if he was truly curious, that he wasn't intent on berating me for my foolish actions. I swallowed hard before I found the courage to speak, and when I did, I was surprised by my own forthrightness.

"I can't let you kill him," I said with a quivering voice, the fear still lingering, cold and tentative. I'd come here to warn the man in black but there was no one here to warn. I'd been too late. What could I possibly do now?

"I'm sorry?" he said, a furrow in his brow.

"Michael."

Nathaniel didn't speak after that, instead staring at me thoughtfully for a moment before turning away to survey the hive. Much to my surprise, anger had yet to come to the surface, his eyes showing little more than concern. I stood up, brushing the damp earth from my trousers, wondering what the Priests meant to do, and what I should do now. Since the man in black wasn't here, I had no idea where I might find him, or if I ever would. I tried my best to keep my mounting dismay to myself, though.

I watched as the men separated, disappearing down this corridor or that, always in pairs, until it was just Nathaniel and the Priestess standing opposite me in the large cavern.

"You care for him," the woman said softly. I hadn't heard or seen her come closer, inspecting the jagged, rocky wall behind me as she spoke. I was too busy nervously watching Nathaniel, staring at his back as he surveyed track marks in the mud on the far side of the cavern. I was hopeful he'd find something, a sign of some sort, that would prove that the man in black was here.

In addition to being abnormally fast and strong, the Priests were also smart and intuitive. Although the woman knew of my feelings for the man in black without me having to say a word aloud, I wasn't sure how I felt about confirming it. In fact, I was afraid of telling anyone about what transpired between he and I, not only in the flesh, but also in the mind. When I really stopped and thought about it, it all seemed utterly absurd.

"He didn't kill my mama," was all I could think to say.

"We know," she replied with a solemn nod.

"What?" My mood shifted quite suddenly as both exasperation and confusion flooded me like a dried up river bed in a torrential storm. "What do you mean?"

Nathaniel chimed in, having somehow overheard the conversation. His face gave little away, though there was a light dusting of concern on his features if you looked hard enough. "We spoke to the sheriff when we first came to town. We were made aware of the circumstances surrounding your mother's death."

"And you didn't tell me?" I asked in outrage as I turned to him, my face screwed up in disbelief.

"I was asked not to," he said calmly as he stood to his full height, finally looking at me. "I have no doubt you're upset, but at the time, the sheriff thought it best."

"And you needed me to bring you here," I said scathingly as I remembered how I'd eagerly helped them. True, it wasn't without agenda of my own, but I'd brought the Priests out to the middle of the Wastelands under the belief that the man in the black, that the vampires that inhabited this hive and others like it, was responsible for my mama's death. The sheriff, I could understand - Eddie had a wife and two children he had to feed and clothe, and he wasn't likely to find employment easily if he was dismissed from the sheriff's service. But to hear that Nathaniel knew, that all the Priests knew, didn't sit well with me.

"It wasn't like that, Mary," Nathaniel defended, still calm and collected where I was rapidly losing my sense. In truth, I was angrier at myself than him, choosing the tall, solemn man to take my frustration out on rather than take it out on myself. And I knew, even though I wanted to be angry, that he was right.

I turned my attention away from him to the woman beside me, and on her face I saw pity. It was the most emotion I'd seen any of the Priests convey, but it was of little comfort. Because of both the sheriff and Nathaniel's knowledge of my mama, I felt I'd been lied to every time they looked at me. Meanwhile, the man in black had looked me dead in the eye and told me nothing but the truth and I'd refused to believe him. But the short-lived anger I felt was quickly shooed away by melancholy, and I looked away from them both to focus on the enormous cavern that swallowed us. Anything to avoid them seeing the hurt in my eyes.

"I don't mean this harshly, Mary," Nathaniel said after a long silence, "but you should let him go. Michael does not care for you as you do him."

"Nathaniel," the woman said suddenly, a hint of warning in her tone, but he ignored her.

"He's incapable of it," he continued. "He was a Priest, and it's engrained in us that emotion is weakness. He's not likely to have forgotten that. And if what he said was true, that he's somehow taken the blood of vampires into himself, creatures without souls, then he cannot possibly feel. Manipulate, yes. I know he comes to you in your dreams, but whatever tricks he has played on you that's brought you here, please forget them. This is a dangerous place, and he's a monster. I should have paid more attention when he asked for you before, here in Sola Mira."

"But he didn't kill my mama," I said when I could think of nothing else to say. Nathaniel's words struck a vein, both angering me and hurting me. There'd been so much uncertainty regarding the man in black, even in the thick of things when I was wrapped around him covered in sweat from his ministrations. Even then, I'd been torn, and Nathaniel's words did nothing but shake to the core the belief that had prompted me to steal his motorbike and abscond to Sola Mira.

"Have you seen him?" the woman asked with narrowed eyes, suddenly wary that what had brought me here was more than just some dream world manipulation on the man in black's part.

I swallowed hard and avoided her gaze, instead focusing on a particularly interesting spot on the ground by my filthy boots. Guilt was evident in every one of my actions and both of them knew it. I gave a shrug before looking up at Nathaniel, an apologetic look on my face.

"He came to me, the night before last," I confessed lowly.

"In your dream?" Nathaniel asked hesitantly, fearing this might not be the case.

I shook my head. "He came to the Black Horse." If they were shocked, neither of them showed it. "He told me about my mama, how she'd died, he told me he'd fallen in love with me. I didn't believe him. I told him I didn't want to see him again. I tried to convince myself that it was just another dream. But when I woke up, I had these marks on my neck from where he'd bitten me." I pushed my hair aside and showed them, and the woman stepped closer to me to inspect them with a furrowed brow. She looked to Nathaniel with unease on her face, but they exchanged no words.

"Mary, why didn't you tell us this?" he asked.

"Because I told you I can't let you kill him."

Nathaniel sighed. "He's brainwashed you, Mar-"

"You _weren't_ there," I ground out, my voice a mixture of anger and longing. "You have no idea."

"Priests do not love, Mary. They don't feel." Though he echoed his words from just a moment before, they were less believable this time. After seeing the pity on the woman's face, I knew. But his words were not so convincing now because of another reason, because his tone had wavered as if he himself did not believe it, either.

"That's horseshit and you know it," I spat.

I left the two of them standing there in the cavern, furiously stalking through the tunnel that led to the entrance. The caution I'd used when traversing it before was gone - I was far too angry to care if I broke an ankle or fell prey to a trap. But with every step that led me closer to the near blinding light of the Wastelands, I could feel tears gathering. And when I took my first breath of dusty desert air, I wept.

†††

Although the other Priests stayed there in Sola Mira, slinking through tunnels and catacombs searching for signs of life, Nathaniel ordered one of them to return me to Jericho. The man seemed neither pleased nor displeased to be ordered to look after me, but as we began the descent from the hive, the Priestess relieved him of his duty.

"I'll take her," she said to the man, and with a curt nod, he disappeared again into the tunnel. "Your hands need looking after," she said when he'd gone, though that was all she said as we descended the mountain and mounted her bike.

The ride to Jericho took half as long as my secretive journey to Sola Mira some hours ago. The Priestess wasn't afraid to push the bike to her limits, and I clung to her with my bloody hands as we sped through the Wastelands, kicking up dust as we soared. Once we coasted through the archway, I expected the Priestess to leave me and return to Sola Mira, but when she parked outside the Black Horse, she dismounted right along with me.

"Are you hungry?" I inquired as she followed me into the inn, the dining room vacant all but a few stragglers at the bar. Dinner time was a few hours off, and when it hit, the Black Horse would be lit up like a torch.

"No, I'm fine. I want to see to you before I leave."

Although I was more than capable of looking after my bloodied hands myself, there was something about her tone that left little room for argument. Her voice was gentle all the while, and for some reason, I found her presence comforting, much the way I had Nathaniel when I'd first met him. They were both genuinely kind people, it seemed, even if I was angry at him for the moment.

I led her upstairs to one of the storerooms where there were shelves lining the wall, stacked high with linens and toiletries. There was a shelf devoted to bandages and needles and tinctures, as well, and she made for them straight away, pulling lids off of bottles and smelling them in turn. I found myself in an exhausted haze, and made no move to help her. But she found what she sought easily enough and with it in hand, she turned to me, removing her gloves all the while.

"Sit down," she said, motioning to the crate next to me. I did as she bid, and she came to kneel before me, soaking gauze with the liquid my nose clearly told me was alcohol. It burned fiercely despite her gentle treatment, and I gritted my teeth against the pain as she carried on.

"Michael was a good man," she said as she dabbed at a shallow cut, clearing away the dirt, gravel, and blood. This perked my ears up. "Just as Nathaniel is. I understand how you feel. I've felt those very things myself. We all have, Nathaniel especially, but he pushes it aside. That's what we're trained to do."

My eyebrows furrowed. I'd seen emotion on her face, her pity and understanding, but with the exception of the glimpses of faint sadness I'd seen on Nathaniel's face, he'd always been remarkably apathetic.

"He was married," she continued after seeing the look on my face. It seemed almost as if it pained her to say. "He has a daughter. When the church began recruiting us, we had no choice in the matter. He was forced to abandon them, asked his brother to look after them. He hasn't seen them since."

"Why not?"

She shrugged as she continued to clean the wound, the gauze stained with blood and dirt.

"I don't know. He's never talked much about it. The point is, he's wrong. Even Nathaniel still feels. He misses them every day. He hides it well, of course, but he feels it. But Michael was never so good at hiding it. In fact, it nearly got him excommunicated."

"Really? Why?"

"He and Nathaniel were the closest of all of us. He saw how Nathaniel struggled to cope with leaving his wife and daughter. He orchestrated a boycott, thought the idea of abandoning families and homes seemed absurd."

"So what happened?"

The Priestess shrugged as she reached for the gauze. With my cuts now clean, she began to wrap it gently around my hands. "No one knows. Monsignor Orelas pulled him from training one day. He was gone for hours, and when he came back, that was the last he ever spoke out against the church. Michael was a dreamer as a child, idealistic to his core. If you ask me, nothing could have swayed him except some sort of threat." Once done wrapping my other hand, she spoke no more, standing to her full height, signaling that that was that.

I looked up at her somber face and realized that she was feeling her own pain regarding the man in black. She'd known him since they were children, had trained and fought alongside him, and they undoubtedly shared camaraderie nothing less than blood. Suddenly, her words stuck out at me, and a knot formed in my throat as my thoughts went wild with possibilities. I didn't want to ask her, but I knew I might never get another chance. It was something I felt I had to know.

"You said you felt it before, love. Was it one of the Priests?"

She smiled a very sad, very small smile as I stood up from the crate. I held my breath unconsciously, fearing for a moment that our hearts perhaps longed for the same man. But then she nodded and swallowed hard, steeling her face like the first time I'd seen her.

"It's not Michael," she assured me.

I nodded, unsure of what to say. After a moment of awkward silence, I escorted her out of the small, cluttered room and back out into the dining room. The patrons had dwindled now to a measly one, a lone man at the bar trying his best to flirt with Dina. I thanked her for seeing me back to Jericho, and again for bandaging up my wounds despite the far more important things she had to do. But as I watched her mount her bike, fear grew in me. I'd been lost in the story of the man in black back when he was merely Michael, the Priest, so much so that I'd pushed aside the real issue.

"Please don't hurt him," I said as she secured her goggles. She turned my way, but I couldn't see her eyes beneath the dark spectacles. Her face no longer registered pity or sadness or any other emotion that might come from reminiscing about love and near excommunication. Now, her face was stoic, the itch to rejoin her brothers eating at her.

"He may leave us no choice, Mary."

As I watched her ride off, the cloud of dust obscuring her fading form, I prayed to God that they would never find him.

†††

Illness sunk its claws into me over the following days. Racked with fever and nausea and aches that penetrated my bones, I never once had time or a clear enough mind to worry about what would happen to the man in black. One night, in the midst of fever, I hallucinated that he was standing again at the foot of my bed. The last time I'd ever seen him was there, and that night played out in my mind again, but this time, the outcome was different.

Now, he stood there fully clothed, his hat in position, perfectly placed so that his eyes were shielded from my view. Still they glowed, just as they always did, and his words came in a whisper as his eyes flickered with the rise and fall of emotion. But unlike that night, I now believed the things he said, and I wept to know that he felt so deeply for me. Now, when he embraced me, I wrapped my arms around him tightly and pressed my lips to his, tossing his hat away so that I could see all of him. Now, it was paradise. Now, he stayed and I confessed that I felt for him as he did me, that I'd longed for him always. But it was only a dream, and my tears fell at the realization.

On the fourth day, I was finally able to sit up in bed and take in solid foods. Dina came and went throughout the day, busier than a con man in the gullible streets of Jericho. She brought me stew and water and tea, and told me in no uncertain terms that I best have it all gone by the time she returned. Amidst my delirium of illness, I had no appetite, and often couldn't eat even if I had wanted to - the aroma of beef and barley and potatoes couldn't even sway me. Once I'd regained lucidity, however, my appetite was still woefully nonexistent. The cause this time wasn't illness, though, but a knot that had formed in my stomach, growing tighter as the sun slid across the sky. I couldn't tell you why exactly, only that my fear for the man in black's safety was now overshadowed by some deep anxiousness that the world might swallow us all up in an instant. Dina thought I might still be fevered, but when she pressed her hand to my forehead and found that I wasn't, she blew a strand of hair from her eye and declared I'd just gone too long without food.

The anxiety was tiring, so much so that I slept on and off all day. When I was awake, I would wonder what was coming, and after I'd half-heartedly convince myself that nothing was, my thoughts would shift to the man in black. I couldn't help but question what had become of him. Had they found him? Was he in hiding somewhere? I wondered, though it was selfish of me to do so, if he thought of me as I did him. Or had he shut me out in an effort to preserve his heart, the very thing Nathaniel was certain he didn't possess? I fell asleep come evening thinking about him, the pillow beneath me damp from tears, wishing he would come back.

Something awoke me when the Black Horse was quiet, a distorted commotion. I started from sleep, but the room was dark around me and I couldn't quite pinpoint from where it was coming. My neck ached, as well, and I felt the scabbed over punctures to see if I'd somehow reopened them during fitful sleep. Nothing. For a brief moment, my heart beat faster in my chest, hopeful that I would suddenly behold two yellow irises burning like fires in the dark. But as my breathing calmed, I realized sullenly that I was alone. And in that same breath, I discovered the noise was coming from outside.

Quickly, I got from bed, still weak from the illness, and took a gander out the window. I saw people in the streets, running and screaming as if from some horror. Their terrified eyes were aimed down the street, far out of range from my sight. Quickly, I grabbed my coat and went downstairs, hobbling ungracefully, my legs trembling from the exertion. I made for the large window alongside the dining room with a clear shot of the street, but before I made it, a hand reached out and tugged me down to the floor.

"Shhh," Ethan said as he pulled me back behind the bar. There, huddled on the ground, I saw Dina, Ethan's lady friend, and several faithful patrons hiding out. The spectacle should have been enough, but despite seeing them clutching their crosses and covering their ears to shield from the screams, I didn't understand.

"Vampires," Dina said with a frightened whisper.

I felt the blood run cold in my veins, recalling vividly the terror I felt days before in Sola Mira. Indeed, as I listened, I could hear the snarls, too - women and men and children's screams cut short by their ferocity. But this couldn't be, could it? Would the man in black attack a town full of innocent people? Or were these some other vampires not beneath his thumb? Maybe they were something else entirely.

I pulled away from Ethan and crawled on all fours so I could peek around the corner of the cabinet, just enough to see the window on the far side of the room. People ran away with torches, while some pursued the chaos with guns and knives and clubs and scythes. I could feel my head spinning - I'd already expended more energy than I had, but I fought it as I crawled out onto the floor and, eventually, got to my feet. Frantic whispers came from behind me, protests to get down and hide, but I ignored them as I reached the door and spilled out into the street.

It was as if I'd stepped into Hell itself - buildings around the Black Horse burned while bodies lie in the street, nothing more than mutilated messes. Flashbacks of the night I came to Jericho filled my mind, and I felt as if I needed a tall glass of water to wash down the bile that threatened to come up. I managed to drag my weakened body to the corner, and I saw the danger these townspeople were running from. True as Dina said, there were vampires everywhere. Some of them were dead, but more of them were alive and killing without mercy. There were Priests, as well, I could see, but two of them had lost their fight. A third was circling a man in the streets menacingly, and it took me a moment to realize that I knew who that man was. It was the man in the black.

As people were running around me, driving away from the chaos, I pursued it. Slowly and most unsteadily, I walked toward the showdown happening in the heart of Jericho. I'd never spoken a word personally to the Priest who clutched his daggers, but I hoped he wouldn't die. In the same breath, I hoped he wouldn't kill the man before him, either.

One block away from all that was happening, the man in black seemed to sense my presence. He stopped circling the Priest and turned very slowly, as if the threat the cross-bearing man posed him had suddenly vanished. He looked at me as if he knew exactly where I'd be, and I expected to see love and longing in his eyes, but I was wrong. . Instead, I saw unbridled rage, and I thought surely my heart had stopped. This didn't look like the man I'd known so briefly, but a monster.

"Michael," I managed to say, my voice faltering as the radiating heat of a nearby fire dizzied me. I took a few steps further and reality began to circle around me. "Michael…"

The world, so frightening and brightly burning, suddenly went very dark. The last thing I can recall was feeling weightless as my body fell, slumping into the dusty ground with fear in my mind. Jericho was chaotic destruction, and the man in black was at the heart of it all.

Nathaniel was right - he was a monster.

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, favorites, reviews, and follows are appreciated! :)**_


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